


Lose Your Clothes and Show Your Scars

by alby_mangroves, vix_spes



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q Reverse Bang, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Friendship, Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Mission Fic, Over-protectiveness, Pining, Rimming, Shaving, Slow Build, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:39:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2841665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In hindsight, Bond knew that he'd made some bad decisions, but it was all his Quartermaster's fault for being so fascinating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Up is Down

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes from vix:** Well, I have finally managed to finish writing after a lot of editing. The minute that I saw this piece of art I knew that it was Alby's and that I needed to write for it (not least because I have loved her art FOREVER!) Alby, thank you so so much for being an absolute delight to work with, for such stunning art and for being a wonderful cheerleader ... I couldn't have done this without you! Thank you so much to Kryptaria and bootsnblossoms for allowing me to use their character Danielle Marsh and huge thanks go to S for the beta!
> 
>  **Notes from Alby:** Dear Vix, working on this with you has been an absolute pleasure. Thank you for choosing my picture as your inspiration for this story! You're one of the nicest people I've ever collaborated with and I'm glad we were able to do this together. Thanks also to mizufae, altocello and amphigoury for the beta and cheering ♥

 

Walking back into the hotel room that he had been living in for the past month, Bond swore to himself that, however much he hated the idea, he was going to start looking for a flat. Whatever positives hotels had at the outset, they tended to disappear after a couple of weeks. He might like having a maid service but not being able to have weapons stashed all over and having other people able to access his room was unnerving not to mention the fact that having M’s bloody ceramic bulldog as his only personal item was quite frankly disturbing.

He was still stuck in London for the foreseeable future as M wouldn’t sign him off as mission fit so he had to do something to fill his time. He had had business that needing tending to following the obliteration of Skyfall, but that had been taken care of relatively quickly and, once he had ensured that Kincaid would be looked after, he had returned to London as quickly as he could. He had received a considerable amount of money from Skyfall, or rather the land that Skyfall had been built upon, and it would easily buy him a decent sized place in London. He supposed that if he was going to be buying a flat he should think about furniture and find out what had happened to all of his things. He knew that they had sold his flat when they had assumed he was dead but he hadn’t really thought about what had happened to his belongings. Or rather, he hadn’t been listening to what M had said. He supposed that Moneypenny would know and if she didn’t then Tanner would.

He wasn’t really relishing the upcoming task of basically rebuilding his life. it just seemed like too much work, especially when, as soon as M cleared him, he would be back on as many missions as he could be and would be spending as little time as possible in London. Maybe he could buy somewhere and persuade 006 to move in. Alec was normally gone on long-term missions anyway so it wasn’t as though they would be living together twenty-four seven, but then they had done that before in the SBS without killing each other so the odds were good. Alec was due to be back in a couple of days anyway so Bond could broach the subject with him then. In the meantime, he could always make phone calls to a few estate agents and just get the ball rolling. Basically, anything to distract him from the fact that M was still refusing to assign him to a mission.

If he was honest, and it wasn’t something that he usually subscribed to – honesty could get you killed all too easily - , he was still struggling with the fact that M was no longer M, Mallory was. She had often driven him crazy and the words ‘take the bloody shot’ would probably haunt him forever but M, his M, had played a huge role in his life. She had been a cast-iron bitch but she had once been an agent and while he hadn’t always liked her, there was no denying that he had admired and respected her. Olivia Mansfield had been buried with full honours and the church had been packed out. Politicians, the head of MI5, and Mallory, the new head of MI6, had attended, not to mention a whole host of higher-ups from the Ministry of Defence. Tanner, Moneypenny and several heads of department within MI6 had been present including Q who, Bond had been amused to see, had managed to lose the parka for the occasion, wearing a smart black wool overcoat instead. Even Villiers, M’s former assistant, had made an appearance. Bond had lurked at the back, lingering guilt meant that he wanted to avoid any interaction with M’s husband.

This was what Bond hated about being in London for long stretches of time; the sense of aimlessness. He wasn’t good at doing nothing or the feeling of isolation. Unfortunately, isolation went hand in hand with the spy game. It had been hard to get used to after the camaraderie of the Navy. He was sure that it was different for those workers who were based permanently at Vauxhall Cross but for field agents, and the double-0 agents in particular, it was much harder to maintain friendships never mind relationships. Bond wasn’t even sure if he knew who the agents designated 004, 008 and 009 were anymore. He had Alec of course, but they had known each other for years and were more like brothers than friends, so Alec almost didn’t count.

He counted Tanner as a friend and supposed he could include Moneypenny as well. Unbidden, he found his thoughts drifting towards Q and the rather abstract thought that he would like the younger man to number among his friends. He couldn’t help but be intrigued by him; he wasn’t sure what it was. The man looked as though he still belonged in university, but he was fascinating.

Take earlier that afternoon for example. Having completed his own standard gruelling workout in both the gym and the pool, and avoided the best attempts of medical to pull him in and complete routine testing, Bond had found himself in the surprisingly deserted executive offices. Tanner’s door was wide-open but, from the way that Moneypenny was trying to look as though she wasn’t eavesdropping, it didn’t take a genius to figure out where he was. Having nothing better to do, Bond had perched on the edge of her desk hoping to find out what was going on. The padded door meant that it was impossible to hear the precise words that were being spoken but it was apparent from the raised voices that whoever was inside really wasn’t happy. Bond turned to Moneypenny to try and find out who was in there but was cut off before the words left his mouth by a furious glare and a perfectly manicured finger being held to her lips.

Luckily for Bond, it hadn’t been too long before a harassed-looking Tanner had emerged with his opposite number from MI5 looking equally harassed and both of them carrying stacks of files. The door was only open for seconds but it was long enough for Bond to clearly discern two voices; the raised voice belonged to Q while the lower placating tones belonged to Mallory. If he leant forward fractionally, he could see several seated figures and then Q pacing up and down, gesticulating wildly. He didn’t see any more as Tanner swung the door shut with a mildly disapproving look. Bond didn’t bother saying anything, he just shrugged unrepentantly. Knowing that he wasn’t going to find anything more out, Bond slipped off the desk and out of Vauxhall. He now had a few more observations about Q to mull over but that was best done over a scotch or two.

It didn’t take him long to find a bar and order a scotch, settling into a comfortable booth that had good views of all the entrances and exits. He was still fascinated by the flash of Q that he had seen in M’s office, even if he didn’t know what they’d been talking about. Boothroyd had very rarely ventured out of R&D and, in all honesty, had been a fairly ineffectual leader of Q-branch. Q, on the other hand, was clearly both. From the afternoon’s events, he was also quite unafraid to go up against M if he disagreed with him; something that had surprised Bond. But then, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised given that Q had been willing to help Bond, having barely met the man, even to the possible detriment of his career.

Ordering another scotch, Bond let his mind replay their interactions during Skyfall. He would be lying if he had said that their first meeting had gone well. In hindsight, it was mostly his fault. He supposed that he was unsettled about returning to the service, a service that was showing vulnerability for the first time, and the Quartermaster had been the complete opposite of what he had been expecting. He had been more than pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t expected the quiet confidence or the quick wit and banter. It was a novelty meeting a boffin who wasn’t scared of him. It had been a genuine pleasure to verbally spar with him and there had been a visible personality – something that was normally all too rare amongst the support staff. If it hadn’t been for the personal aspect of the mission, then Bond would have taken more pleasure in working with Q; missions would certainly go much quicker with Q’s sarcastic commentary running in the background.

‘So much for my promising career in espionage’, Q had complained when Bond had confirmed the fact that what they were doing wasn’t official in the slightest, although that hadn’t stopped him from helping Bond, even when Mallory had caught them. Bond definitely had to disagree with him. Considering the start he had had, Bond thought Q had quite the promising career. Why wouldn’t he?

Once he’d gotten over the fact that Q looked ridiculously young to be the Quartermaster of MI6, and that his age really had no correlation to his competence, Bond wasn’t entirely surprised to find that he wanted to get to know Q better. He wished to be able to count the younger man as one of his (few) friends. He wondered what it would be like to take Q out drinking and be exposed to that sarcastic wit when he wasn’t in a life or death situation. He couldn’t help but wonder if Q always gesticulated that wildly or if it was simply anger-induced. Then again, with their work for Queen and country, when would they have time for this social drinking? Draining his glass, Bond signalled for the bill; if he was going to get maudlin, he might as well do it in his own flat.

~*~

Since he had seen Q in M’s office, Bond hadn’t been back to MI6. There hadn’t really been time. Instead of bringing 006 back to the UK to give him a new briefing and equipment, M had decided to send a more junior agent out to meet him at a pre-determined meeting spot with all of the necessary information and equipment, which meant Bond had had to abandon his initial plans regarding Alec. Instead, he had just decided to go ahead and find somewhere to live so that he didn’t have to continue living in hotels. A quick email to Tanner had confirmed a list of areas and buildings that had already been vetted as safe by MI6 and, having picked one, Bond soon found himself holding the keys to a penthouse apartment near Leadenhall Market and the City. There had been plenty of options, even amongst those that had been vetted, but Bond had been picky and had refused to sign a contract until he had gone over the place with a fine toothcomb and been satisfied with the property.

As a result, he had ended up with a flat that he was more than happy with, which was a bloody good thing considering how much he had paid for it. A huge penthouse that covered half of the top floor of a warehouse conversion, it had plenty of exposed brickwork with very few of the floor to ceiling glass windows that seemed to characterise London penthouses but which, in Bond’s honest opinion, were just begging for an attack from snipers. The apartment had three bedrooms, two with en-suites and one of which was on the opposite side of the apartment so would be absolutely ideal for Alec, should they both be in London at the same time. There was a gym and pool in the building if Bond couldn’t be bothered to go into MI6, an underground garage and a doorman twenty-four seven. Even more appealing was the fact that the other occupants were very rarely at home and, confirmed by a quick background check, were nothing to be worried about.

With the keys in his hand, he had paid an almost obscene amount of money to an interior designer to get the place habitable as quickly as possible. He had absolutely no interest in doing it himself but he gave her a clear picture of what he wanted and left her to it. He had no need for ostentation or an excess of personal items; what he did have and wanted to keep were held safely in a personal vault at Coutts. He just wanted it so that the bloody bulldog wasn’t the only thing in the place.

Needing something to do until the interior decorator was finished, he had busied himself in the hotel gym and pool in between several trips to Saville Row and Sloane Square in order to replace his lost suits. As night had fallen, Bond had changed into workout clothes and made his way into the city, keeping his skills well-honed by running parkour around the city. It reminded him why he loved London. He had visited some truly beautiful places during his years in the service but, if he was being perfectly honest, visiting beautiful islands, only to be either greeted by a madman or shot at, tended to take the shine off them. But, regardless of Silva’s actions, London was still the place where Bond felt safest, despite it also, by contrasts, being the place he felt loneliest. There was only so much time he could spend training, only so much parkour his body could take and drinking was never really much fun when you were doing it by yourself or to simply fill the time.

This was why Bond needed to be in the field, why he belonged in the field and, inevitably, he would die in the field.

Luckily for Bond, money talked and his apartment was finished within the time frame that he had specified and he was able to move out of the hotel and into his own flat. It hadn’t taken him long to establish the extra security measures that he wanted to ensure that there was an easily accessible but well-hidden stash of weapons in every single room. Officially, no agents were permitted to carry weapons outside of missions; Bond’s Walther, for example, was supposed to be returned at the end of every mission or else face the wrath of a very unhappy Quartermaster. Unofficially, Bond had a licence to kill, and if people wanted to kill him the likelihood that they would have the decency to wait until he was officially on a mission was non-existent, so a blind eye was generally turned to unofficial weapons. It was a good job really, considering the number that most of the agents owned.

Still, having his apartment finished and a space of his own didn’t make Bond any less bored. He had never been one for idle timewasting but his body couldn’t cope with the rigorous demands it would be put under in an attempt to curtail the boredom. He may be a sensualist and enjoy wearing fine clothes and going out to eat in fine restaurants but neither could hold his attention for long and lost any lustre they might hold. He tried reading novels and watching TV but while he enjoyed the reading, he despaired at the state of daytime television. He was left with one option; returning to Vauxhall Cross.

Then again, there wasn’t that much for him to do at Vauxhall other than exercise or annoy whatever members of staff were around. He chose the latter and honed in on Moneypenny first. It worked well enough for a while but, unfortunately for Bond, Moneypenny got bored of his constant presence before he got bored of flirting and barbed comments, threatening that she would shoot him again and do the job properly this time. So, he moved on to the next person; Tanner. It took even less time for Tanner to get bored of Bond.

“Oh for god’s sake Bond, can you please go and annoy somewhere else and stop loitering around my desk? I have work to do and I can’t do it with you looming over me.”

Bond smirked at having ruffled Tanner’s calm veneer, even momentarily. He liked the man, he really did – he was ten times better than bloody Villiers who had only ever seemed able to say “yes ma’am” – but M was still refusing to sign him off and he was bored.

“Did you have anyone in mind for me to go and annoy? I think Moneypenny will actually stab me with her stilettos if she sees me again.”

“Yes, well, I don’t entirely blame her. Look, why don’t you go and pay a visit to R&D? Q said that he had been working on some new gun prototypes; he might need some help testing them and I’m not going to be able to get down there for a few days with all of the paperwork that Trevelyan has caused.”

Bond grinned at that, “Alec got trigger-happy with the bombs again, didn’t he?”

His comment earned him a sour look from Tanner.

“What do you think Bond? It’s always a miracle if he doesn’t get trigger-happy. I’ve never known an agent to love explosions as much as he does. Between the two of you I swear that you’re responsible for 75% of my paperwork.”

Bond grinned again. “Only 75%? We’re clearly slipping.”

“Bond, get out of my office.”

“Bill, always a pleasure.” Bond poked his head back around the door jamb. “So, are you telling me that you test the guns for R&D?”

“OUT!”

Smirk firmly fixed on his lips, Bond sauntered out of the area that housed the executive offices without running into Eve Moneypenny, much to his relief. Stepping into the lifts, he pushed the relevant button for R&D wondering why he hadn’t thought of this sooner. Hopefully, R&D would actually let him play with some of the new toys and not just run him off the instant that he stepped out of the lift.

(~*~)

He hadn’t been down to either Q-branch or R&D since the debacle that was the Skyfall mission when Silva had escaped MI6 custody. He had only seen Q a couple of times since then, once at M’s funeral and then later storming out of Mallory’s office. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t help but wonder if Q would be around today. He hoped not because he had the feeling that Q wouldn’t be easily persuaded to hand over his beloved weapons. Bond would probably be better off with one of the minions – someone who could either be flirted or intimidated into letting Bond loose to play with the new weaponry.

Looking around, he couldn’t help but notice the differences between the place now and the one that he had been familiar with for the entirety of his career at MI6. Not only was the space different but there were an awful lot of new faces as well. Bond had never been on particularly good terms with either Q-branch or R&D he disliked Q-branch because they never seemed to have the right information for him when he needed it and they tended to get grumpy when he did the opposite of what they told him to do and R&D hated him because he inevitably destroyed so much equipment. Still, he had recognised faces and there seemed to be far too few that he knew around. In fact, the entire average age of the entire department seemed to have decreased by about twenty years, something he was attributing to the new Quartermaster.

The man in question appeared all of a sudden surrounded by a flock of staffers, most of them flapping like baby ducklings and looking all of about twelve. Bond couldn’t help but be impressed by the calm and efficient way the younger man dealt with them, dispensing orders, signing off on work and accepting files, even as Bond cringed at the mismatched outfit Q wore. The man was an executive of MI6; would it kill him to wear a suit rather than looking as though he had got dressed in the dark and without his glasses.

“Well, well. James Bond in Q-branch. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Bond turned and smiled at the woman who had materialised next to him. Danielle Marsh, or R as she was more commonly known, was a Q-branch legend. A smart, elegant, middle-aged lady with a core of steel, no-one was entirely sure how long she had been working at MI6 but it was well-known that the only reason Q-branch hadn’t fallen apart under Major Boothroyd had been because of Danielle Marsh. Rumour had it that she had even been offered the position of Q after the Vauxhall Cross explosion but had stated that she quite liked her life the way it was and that there was someone better suited to being Q than she was. Beloved by the double-0’s for her no-nonsense manner and her ability to keep calm in a crisis, Danielle was also one of the few women to never fall for Bond’s charm.

“Danielle, I’m hurt. Am I not allowed to come and simply pay you a visit?”

“You forget that this is me you’re talking to, not one of the interns who’ll simply bat her eyelashes and go all doe-eyed at a single glance from you. You’re banned from the field so you can’t be collecting equipment. Come on, what do you want?”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“I’m R for a reason, Bond. What are you doing down here?”

“Tanner got frustrated with me constantly asking about my field status. He suggested that I could perhaps prove useful and test some new prototypes?”

“Don’t let Q hear you; he still isn’t thrilled about your Walther and the Komodo dragon. Bill’s right though, we’ve got some prototypes that have already gone through preliminary testing. They need more rigorous testing but Q’s so busy at the moment, I don’t know when he’ll be able to get to it.”

“Q? Danielle, what are you saying? That Q tests the weapons?”

“Why do you think your Walther was so good? You should really check the range scores one of these days. You might find it quite enlightening.”

“Why would I need to check the range scores? I have the highest marksman scores.”

Danielle gave a sly smile. “Of the double-0’s and field agents, you do. You’d be surprised at some people’s hidden talents. Come on, I’ll set you up in one of the testing labs and find someone that you won’t terrify to take notes.”

Bond snorted at that. The majority of the boffins who worked down in the tunnels seemed to be very jittery and thus incapable of doing anything when Bond was around. And that was when he wasn’t armed or testing weapons. Assuming that Danielle was going to be a while, Bond leant back against a nearby table and simply took in the bustle of Q-branch, although he found his eyes being constantly drawn back to where Q stood in front of the bank of monitors, his back to the rest of the room.

Danielle returned sooner than he expected, an older man in tow that Bond vaguely recognised from Boothroyd’s time as Q.

“Bond, this is Henry, he’s going to record the results of the testing for you. Come on, let’s get what you need from the test armoury. I trust that you won’t break anything. Or at least try; I know what you’re like Bond. Do try and remember that these are prototypes. We just need to know how they fire, not if they work as projectiles or clubs.”

“Yes R, I promise to behave myself.”

Bond grinned as Danielle rolled her eyes.

“Oh please Bond, don’t make promises that you have no intention of keeping. Or that you’re completely incapable of keeping. Get on with you. Some of us have work to do and no doubt Q will need more tea.”

(~*~)

After several satisfying hours in the testing lab, Bond had found himself searching for a computer to check what Danielle had said about range scores. There was no requirement for staff based entirely at Vauxhall Cross to have any firearms training; it was an entirely personal decision. There were several notable exceptions but then Moneypenny had been a field agent and Mallory had been in the Army. The only other one that Bond knew of was Bill Tanner and Bond was fairly certain that very few people other than he and Alec could remember that Bill Tanner had once been known by another name; the call sign 004.

Computer found, it didn’t take Bond long to find (read: hack) the range scores. He might not be a technological genius but, as England’s enemies had grown more technologically aware, so her defenders had had to stay abreast. As he had expected, Eve Moneypenny, Mallory and Tanner all scored highly but the surprising name on the list, with a score just a few points less than Bond was Q. Q; the one person whose name that he hadn’t been expecting to see. He was absolutely amazed. He had known that Q was an expert hacker and he was quite clearly an incredible inventor but he hadn’t expected him to have expert marksman skills as well. It fascinated Bond far more than he had expected. What was it about this badly-dressed young boffin that he found so intriguing? He wasn’t entirely certain but it bore investigating.

There was far more to Q than Bond had expected. The younger man played on his mind for the rest of the evening and that night, as he got into bed, Bond resolved to return to R&D the next day. Q definitely required more observation before Bond could figure him out.

~*~

Bond couldn’t deny the feeling of relief that went through him when he was finally informed that M was satisfied with his test scores and that he was being allowed back in the field. Frankly, it had been far too long stuck in dreary old London. It had been the longest downtime that he had had since leaving the Navy; the time spent in Greece didn’t count because he had been officially dead at the time. He hadn’t even had this much downtime after the Casino Royale mission. Still, as reluctant as he was to admit it, the enforced downtime had been good for him. He was back in perfect form on the range with his scores the highest of the double-0’s, much to Alec’s annoyance. No doubt the other man would pay him back the next time that he was in London, probably by pounding Bond into the floor during hand-to-hand training, and that was something that Bond was fully expecting and even looking forward to.

Out of sheer boredom, he had been able to properly rehab his shoulder and the scars didn’t pull any more, they were just more to add to his myriad collection. Undoubtedly he had either failed or scraped through his psych evaluation but then if he had done anything otherwise he would have been worried. He had been told to report to Q-branch for his equipment once he had seen M and he hoped that there was going to be another of those Walther’s waiting for him. It had worked beautifully and he had been genuinely disappointed when he had lost it to that bloody Komodo dragon. It had been a stunning piece of workmanship and, at the time, he had been impressed by the new Quartermaster’s talents. What had Q said about it? ‘Less of a random killing machine, more of a personal statement’. Well, it had certainly been that.

Walking into the executive offices, he greeted Moneypenny and nodded at Tanner who had just let himself out of M’s office, files in hand. He couldn’t help but wonder if the Chief of Staff was behind Bond suddenly passing all the required tests. After all, it was barely five days since Tanner had yelled at him to get out of his office. Still, Bond didn’t particularly care why he was going out into the field, just that he was.

“Morning, 007.”

“Morning, Tanner.”

“He’ll see you now.” Tanner moved out of the way, over to Moneypenny’s desk and leant over, making a few comments in a low voice.

Bond left them to it, stepping through the door and closing it behind him. His eyes roamed around the room, taking in the new setting. Mallory had decided against using the same glass-panelled room that Olivia Mansfield had used and instead had an office that looked as though it belonged in a gentleman’s club. He looked back at his boss as Mallory cleared his throat.

“So, 007, lots to be done.” Mallory slid a file across the desk to Bond. “Are you ready to go back to work?”

“With pleasure, M, with pleasure.”


	2. A View to (a) Kill

Looking at the file on his way down to Q-branch, Bond couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t so much a mission but a milk-run; the kind of thing that he’d been given just prior to and after he had attained double-0 status. For a brief moment, he wondered if this was what lay ahead of him for the rest of his career before he shrugged the thought off. M was probably just trying to protect himself. After all, Bond was one of the best and M knew it. Besides, milk run or not, Argentina was a hell of a lot better than London.

As he walked into Q-branch, he could see no sign of their eponymous leader – his normal spot in front of the bank of monitors was vacant and the door to Q’s office was wide open showing that it was empty. Instead, the ever-calm R was shepherding the minions through the tasks that needed to be done, although she spared a brief glance for Bond.

“He’s up in finance at the moment, a last minute meeting, but should be back in about five minutes. Go on into his office and wait for him.”

“Allowed into the inner sanctum? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. I’m just ensuring that Q-branch doesn’t grind to a halt with you being your usual pain in the arse.”

“Danielle, I’m hurt. If you don’t want me around then you could always issue me the equipment yourself and thus get me out of here even quicker?”

“Nice try Bond. Q wants to issue you with the equipment himself for some reason, so you’re just going to have to wait for him. Go on, away with you.”

Bond sauntered off in the direction of Q’s office, curious about what it would look like. Q was almost always out of his office, in front of the bank of monitors, so Bond hadn’t been in there before and the fact that Q wasn’t going to be there gave him the perfect opportunity to have a snoop around.

The lights were clearly on some sort of sensor, because they came on the instant that Bond walked through the door and he looked around in interest. There weren’t as many computers as he was expecting but, then again, with the number of screens in the monitor bank, that wasn’t entirely surprising. There was a huge stack of paper files occupying one corner of the desk, which wasn’t entirely surprising in the aftermath of Silva’s attack, and Bond also knew for a fact that there were quite a few files which existed only on paper and, normally, were for M’s eyes only. Another corner of the desk had a copy of the file Bond held and the tray with what Bond assumed was his equipment for this mission. More interesting to Bond however, was the large table strewn with bits and pieces of machinery and equipment along with a variety of blueprints. Just as he was reaching out to touch something that looked particularly intriguing, he heard footsteps in the doorway and spun around to see a rather frustrated looking Q, carrying a stack of files and his beloved tablet.

“Keep your hands to yourself please, 007. I’m sorry to have kept you.”

“Not at all Q, not at all.” Bond stepped away from the table, casting a lingering look over his shoulder at one blueprint in particular. “That isn’t a design for my exploding pen is it?”

“What is it about you and bloody exploding pens? No, it isn’t. Now, where are you off to again? Ah yes, Argentina. Pretty simple mission for you so just the standard kit; Walther PPK 9mm short with personalised hand-grip – do try not to feed this one to any of the local wildlife, will you – and a radio.”

“But Q, think about the potential that an exploding pen would have! And you make it sound as though I _wanted_ to feed my gun to a Komodo dragon.”

“Yes, well, forgive me if I’m not inclined to believe you. You shouldn’t need any other equipment but if you do, I have no doubt that you will be able to improvise. I’ll be on the comms and in your ear throughout the mission. Any questions?”

“Why are you so vehemently against an exploding pen?”

“Why are you so utterly convinced that you absolutely have to have one?”

“Because it could be an incredibly useful piece of equipment and nobody would think of it as anything but an innocuous pen.”

“The answer’s still no. Any other questions?”

“Just the one. Do you own those hideous checked trousers in every colour combination that exists?”

“Get out, Bond. You have a plane to catch and I have work to do.”

Bond nodded and sauntered out of the door, the case with his equipment in hand, only to be called back as he reached the doorway.

“Bond? Good luck out there in the field … And please _try_ to return the equipment in one piece.”

“For you, Q? Anything.”

As he walked out of the office, Bond snuck a look back over his shoulder and was intrigued to see what he was fairly sure was a blush on those high cheekbones. Filing that little titbit of information away for a better time, he set off to pack.

(~*~)

The mission had proven even simpler than Bond had expected to the point where, briefly, he wished that every mission could be like this – smooth with no hiccups – before he admitted that he would be bored witless and would end up creating chaos just to amuse himself. Still, he hadn’t quite realised the extent to which he had missed being out in the field until he was back out there, and it just reinforced his belief that he wouldn’t be retiring; he’d be carried out of the service in a body bag.

What had also helped was the sheer effort expended by Q and the rest of his branch. Their competence had improved in leaps and bounds since Q had taken over and field agents were starting to come round to the realisation that they could be trusted and used to help, rather than hinder. One of the reasons that field agents, and the double-0’s in particular, were so bad at following directions was because more than a few of them had learned the hard way that the information from Q-branch wasn’t always reliable, or that equipment didn’t always work exactly as it was expected to. Bond himself had learnt that the hard way in Montenegro when his defibrillator had failed.

Not so nowadays. After Silva, Q had stepped up his efforts and every single bit of intel was double and triple checked before being passed on to agents, the branch staffers who worked on comms were watched over by an eagle-eyed R and all equipment was vigorously tested and then impeccably maintained. It was working.

Bond had always detested working with a voice in his ear but he found himself not minding so much when that voice was the cool, even and crisp tones of the Quartermaster. More than once, he had found himself laughing out loud at the acerbic comments and witty observations the boy made. It certainly made the interminable hours of observation pass quickly and if Q had to clock off, Bond found himself actively waiting to hear from him again. Now that the mission was over, he couldn’t wait to get back and see the look on Q’s face when he came to the realisation that Bond had brought all of his equipment back with him. Yes, the radio was partially crushed and the gun had more than a few scratches on it but he was bringing it back. That was the point wasn’t it?

The minute that his plane landed and he had cleared customs, Bond headed for Q-branch, not even thinking about his mission report. Danielle gave him a knowing look as he sauntered into Q-branch and nodded her head in the direction of Q’s office.

“He’s in his office. Straight here from the airport; should we be worried? What did you do to your equipment?”

“Lovely to see you too, Danielle. Nice to see how little faith you have in me.”

Bond continued on up to Q’s office, watching him code for several minutes, fingers flying over the keys, before knocking on the door frame.

“Well, I’ve managed to bring all your equipment back…”

“Do you want a gold star, Bond? Do I need to set up some sort of reward chart for the double-0 branch or something?”

“What, like five gold stars gets you a bazooka and ten for an exploding pen?”

“Why on earth would you get a bazooka for five stars? And no, no bloody exploding pens. Do you have a one track mind or something? No gold stars, or reward charts. You’re agents of Her Majesty the Queen not bloody pre-schoolers!”

“Well…”

“Bond, just go. There is no way that you’ve been debriefed or done your mission report yet and I have to talk 006 through _not_ blowing up a mission silo in approximately fifteen minutes.”

“If there’s anyone who can talk Alec out of using explosives, it’s you. Having said that, even you will have your work cut out for you.”

“Are you trying to flatter me Bond? Because if you are, I can assure you that you need to try harder.”

The sarcasm in Q’s voice was overwhelming but Bond chose to ignore that because, well, why not? Instead, he chose to focus on the words that Q had uttered and the challenge that he had inadvertently issued.

“As you wish Quartermaster,” Bond disappeared out of Q’s office with fresh determination. He had a new mission now; one of his own making.

His mission? Q.

~*~

First things first, he needed information. Given how important the Quartermaster was in the hierarchy of MI6, traditionally the file of whoever was in the post at any time was on paper under lock and key so that it could be easily destroyed if necessary. With the upsurge in hackers and cyber-crime, this was even more necessary than ever. Having broken into the former M’s home on not just one but two occasions, Bond had no qualms about breaking into M’s office while he was in meetings on Whitehall and Moneypenny was attending a business lunch; which really meant that she was seducing wealthy international businessmen for information.

Breaking into M’s office and finding Q’s file was far easier than it should have been which set alarm bells ringing in Bond’s mind. Even if the file existed only on paper, he had still expected it to be kept locked in a safe or under similar security measures. He hadn’t expected it to be in practically the first filing cabinet that he checked. The thing was, it wasn’t just enemies of the United Kingdom who were interested in Q; it was swiftly becoming known amongst secret services belonging to other countries that MI6 had a new Quartermaster who was absolutely brilliant. Bond himself had already fielded more than a few enquiries after the Quartermaster from Felix Leiter and if the FBI were already after him, then it wouldn’t be long before everyone else was following suit. It didn’t take long for him to discover just _why_ it had been so easy to find; there was absolutely nothing in it. There was a name, that Bond was 95% certain would lead to a dead end, a birth date that, if it was correct, placed Q somewhere in his mid-30’s and a place of birth. It was almost more than Bond was hoping for but he was simultaneously disappointed by the lack of information.

There was nothing about his history at MI6 such as any promotions or even when he’d been recruited and who by. There was no address, no phone number or photo although none of that was surprising. It was just a mostly blank sheet of paper. Bond had been expecting something much like his own file with the information there just heavily redacted unless you had a high enough security clearance. That meant he was going to have to try and get information out of people instead which was going to be harder but hopefully not impossible. Putting the file back where he had found it and making sure that the room looked untouched, he compiled a shortlist of people to ask for information.

Danielle was the obvious choice but she undoubtedly guarded Q with all the ferocity of a mother bear and was one of only two people in the whole of MI6 that frightened Bond, the other being Nurse Sheila – a very old-fashioned nurse who was the bane of every single double-0. So, that left a very short list of Moneypenny and Tanner.

Apparently the Quartermaster and the Chief of Staff had bonded as they had laid the fake trail up to Skyfall and had maintained the friendship from then. Rumour had it that once they had discovered they were both Shakespeare fans that they had even taken to acting out scenes from various plays during long evenings with nothing to do, although Bond had yet to confirm that. Besides, Bill Tanner had been part of MI6 for longer than Bond and now he was Chief of Staff knew everything. So Tanner was an option albeit maybe a last resort.

Moneypenny might be the better option. Or rather an easier option, at least if she had got past the desperate urge to gouge Bond’s eyes out with her stilettos. She may paint herself as being above the daily grind as M’s assistant but Eve Moneypenny was an insatiable gossip who would undoubtedly have something on Q. Bond wasn’t a stupid man; he knew that he had pissed her off by refusing to sleep with her in Shanghai but he had always had a policy of not involving himself romantically (or sexually) with MI6 operatives.

It wasn’t a fixed rule but then neither was it one that he’d ever really been tempted to break; Moneypenny was probably the closest that he’d gotten and well, the woman had shot him. He knew that that was possibly more than a little petty but he didn’t really care; after all, he was only human. Had Eve Moneypenny been simply a random woman – a mark or somebody that he had simply met on a mission – then he would have had no qualms about bedding her but that hadn’t been the case. Still, hurt pride or not, Moneypenny wasn’t immune to a little flirtation and flirtation was something that Bond could do in his sleep. Hopefully, a nice dinner in an exclusive restaurant with plenty of alcohol and he would at least have something.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. Moneypenny saw through him by the time they made it to the main course and then, when Bond refused to divulge why he wanted the information, clammed up immediately. With no way to read Q’s file, not to mention Moneypenny and Tanner refusing to give up any information, Bond was left with one option and that was spying the old fashioned way. Leaving his suits at home, he donned faded blue jeans worn to perfect softness with a roll-neck jumper, double-breasted wool coat, flat cap and a pair of glasses with plain glass in them. He couldn’t have looked further from the be-suited agent that Q was used to seeing. He then loitered at a safe distance from the doors of MI6, using his knowledge to stay in the couple of CCTV black spots that he knew about.

He didn’t have to wait long. Sometime shortly after the normal clocking off hour for the administrative staff, a slender figure in a voluminous parka with a ridiculous mop of hair and messenger bag slung over one shoulder emerged from the building. Q barely paused before darting between the passing cars with hardly a care in his haste to get across to Vauxhall tube station. It wasn’t a long journey to Q’s home from Vauxhall Cross but Bond spent the entire journey struggling with the urge to storm up to Q and shake some sense into him. For an MI6 executive, probably second only to M in terms of importance, Q was putting no effort whatsoever into his own personal security. For one, he clearly hadn’t taken advantage of the car service that existed for employees and, having already checked their records, Bond knew that he had never used it. He hadn’t once checked for tails and hadn’t double-back on himself or taken a roundabout way home; he had simply gone straight home as though he were any other generic office worker and not the Quartermaster of MI6.

Bond wasn’t sure where he had thought Q would live but he hadn’t been expecting anything like the place that they had turned up outside of. He supposed that he had been expecting something very modern given all of the technology that he worked with; not a three-storey brick terrace house in Brixton. It looked like something that would normally be split up and converted into flats or be a family home, not something that one person lived in by himself. He was also concerned as it looked as though Q had just unlocked the door and walked straight in without waiting for any biometric security measures and without pausing to type in any sort of security code. He continued watching as a hall light and several upstairs lights went on before he finally left, talking note of the house number and street name as he did so. He had some legwork to do before he returned for more observation.

(~*~)

A bit of flirting and snooping through files had established that the house in Brixton was registered for single occupancy to someone who didn’t have the same name as he had found in Q’s file. That wasn’t exactly surprising but it didn’t really help matters. With no other information readily available, no-one giving up any information and insatiable curiosity, Bond lasted all of three days before he decided that his best option – or rather the only option left – was breaking into Q’s home. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have previous form for doing it. The only difference from when he had broken into M’s home was that this time he actually felt a slight pang of guilt at his actions because, unlike with M, he genuinely liked Q or what little he knew of him. He picked an evening when he knew that Q would be on the comms directing 004 through a particularly tricky part of her mission in Bolivia and, so he dressed in clothes that were easy to move in, that were all black and had plenty of pockets that he filled with his phone, keys, set of lockpicks and a torch. He also ensured that he had a small gun in his ankle holster and a knife strapped to his left fore-arm. He wasn’t expecting anything to happen but it never hurt to be prepared.

He was slightly alarmed by how easy it was to gain access to Q’s home; the man had left a bloody window open! It was almost as though he was asking for someone to break in. Okay, so your average, run-of-the-mill burglar probably wouldn’t be able to get in but it would be easy enough for someone with the right training. Landing with a soft thud, he paused for several long minutes, waiting to see if either there was someone else there or an alarm that he hadn’t been expecting. When there had been nothing for five minutes, he assumed that he was safe and pulled his torch out of his pocket. It was time to do some investigating.

Q’s house gave him far more insight into the man that Bond had hoped for. He dind’t know how he’d been expecting the man to live – maybe like a university student with piles of dirty dishes, empty takeaway boxes and just stuff everywhere – but this was completely different. The downstairs basement had been turned into a workshop and this was the messiest room in the whole house; blueprints, tools, parts, and finished bits of equipment, were strewn everywhere. There were several items that piqued Bond’s curiosity but, knowing his luck, this was organised chaos and Q would know immediately if anything had been moved just a fraction of an inch. The rest of the house was an eclectic mix of things. There was far less technology than Bond had been expecting and far more books; one room was actually wall to wall bookcases that covered a huge variety of subjects. The room also contained a print of The Fighting Temeraire, the Turner painting that they had met in front of and Bond couldn’t help but wonder whether there was any significance to its existence.

He had just started nosing around Q’s bedroom, with an occupant in the form of a rather friendly cat, when he heard something that he had been convinced he would avoid; Q, or who he assumed to be Q, opening the front door and walking heavily up the stairs. There was no time for him to get to a room that Q was less likely to go into and there was nowhere to hide in the bedroom. Darting into the adjoining bathroom, he saw a large linen closet and hoped to God that the boiler wasn’t on. There was just enough space for him to see through the space between the door and the doorframe and through the keyhole. He managed to close the door behind him and settle himself into as comfortable a position as possible just as Q burst into his bedroom cursing up a blue streak.

“Bloody fucking agents. They all need refresher courses in how to follow sodding instructions. Is it really that difficult? Well apparently it is. The sheer bloody arrogance of them! And to say that if I couldn’t read maps I should go back and finish school. The bloody cheek of it! I can read maps, she just can’t follow orders!”

Bond had to bite his lip to stop himself laughing at Q’s grumbling although any desire to laugh quickly disappeared as Q proceeded to strip, apologising to the cat (apparently called Archimedes) as a cardigan landed on its head. He then held his breath as Q walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, which was separate from the huge claw-footed bathtub. That was promising because hopefully it meant that Bond wouldn’t get scalded by the boiler and reveal the fact that he had broken into a superiors home. Again.

He scrutinised the younger man’s body as Q waited for the water to warm up, noting that, while Q was very skinny, he didn’t look unhealthy and there was obvious musculature there, particularly in Q’s back and shoulders. Then again, there would have to be if you took into consideration his range scores and the recoil that some of those guns had. In contrast to Bond’s own body, Q’s skin was pale and scar-free, with just a smattering of dark hair covering his legs and groin.

Try as he might not to, Bond couldn’t help the fact that his gaze kept being drawn to Q’s pert and rather plush arse. Normally hidden by hideous trousers and cardigans, it was, quite frankly, a work of art. There was no denying that, when you also took into account the high cheekbones, unruly mop of hair and green eyes, Q was an incredibly attractive man and, well, Bond would be lying if he said that he hadn’t noticed. He adjusted himself into a more comfortable position, the sound masked by the running water, and settled in for a wait. As he did so, he pondered the fact that he was finding himself rather attracted to his young Quartermaster.

Being attracted to men was nothing new to him and was unlikely to cause a sexual crisis. His relationships and sexual encounters were predominantly with women but there had been some men along the way; they just didn’t tend to make it into the mission reports. There was also the fact that the only people that were capable of maintaining a relationship and even vaguely comprehending what he did were in the Service and he just didn’t think that was a good idea. Not to mention the fact that three-quarters of the support staff were terrified of the agents and he didn’t find any of the male agents even remotely attractive. Q, on the other hand, was strangely perfect. He paused as he heard the shower turn off and pressed his eye to the keyhole.

He watched as Q dried himself off and then walked into the bedroom, stark naked, pulling a couple of items from a drawer then a pair of trousers and a shirt from the wardrobe. Bond’s throat got drier and drier and his cock swelled in his trousers, pressing uncomfortably against the zip as he watched Q fasten a garter belt around his waist before rolling on and affixing a pair of black thigh high stockings to it and pulling on a pair of tiny black knickers. The Quartermaster definitely had hidden depths. Bond couldn’t help the lust that surged through him at the sight of that plush arse barely contained in the knickers as Q turned to get the trousers, before turning back round to give Bond a good look at Q’s cock and balls tucked into the black mesh as he pulled the trousers up to hide the other items of clothing.

 

 

So many questions were running through Bond’s head. How often did Q do this? Was there a particular reason why he did it? Did he do it for himself or for someone else? Did Q have a partner or was this just for his own enjoyment? Where did he go dressed like that?

The urge to unzip his trousers to relieve the pressure was almost overwhelming but Bond knew that if he did that, he would be tempted to masturbate and nothing good would come of that. Instead, he sat in the linen cupboard long after he had heard Q say his farewell to the cat and leave the house, waiting for his erection to subside before leaving his hiding place and exiting the house the same way he got in. That done, he headed straight home; he knew what he would be dreaming about tonight.

~*~

After his little discovery, Bond would be lying if he said he hadn’t taken to hanging around Q-branch even more than he had been whilst waiting to be allowed back in the field. He had also taken to keeping a spare set of clothes in his locker. So, the next time that Bond found out that Q would be leaving early, or rather on time for Q, he was less than five minutes behind the younger man as he headed home, still without taking any precautions as to his own safety.

Bond trailed an oblivious Q all the way from Brixton to a club in the depths of Soho. It didn’t look particularly seedy but still wasn’t the sort of place that Bond was expecting. Then again, Q was turning out to be not what Bond had expected. Rather than following Q into the club immediately, Bond loitered around on the opposite side of the road and watched the people going into the club. It made no sense for him to have got so far without being spotted if he was going to immediately stand out and draw attention to himself. He waited for about ten minutes, watching the various men and women entering and exiting the club, clocking what they were wearing and whether he would be able to slip in without being noticed by Q. Luckily, the clothes that he had selected to blend in with the crowds, dark jeans, a dark grey t-shirt that clung to his torso and a black leather jacket with boots, were the perfect mix of smart enough to get in and not so dressy that he would draw attention to himself. Crossing over the road, he nodded at the bouncer on the door, paid the entrance fee and slipped inside, heading straight for the bar and signalling for the barman.

As soon as he had a drink in hand, he leant back against the bar and watched the crowds. It was the typical crowd that you would expect to see; groups of friends hanging out, couples out with each other and engaging in a variety of public displays of affection. Then there was the person that Bond had come to see; Q.

There was no hint that Q was wearing the items of clothing that Bond had seen him in, nothing to suggest it, and Bond found that he quite liked that. He liked being the only person who knew that Q was possibly wearing stockings and garters underneath the very conservative shirt and trousers. He continued to watch, entranced, as Q started to dance in the centre of the dance floor. It wasn’t remotely coordinated, or even particularly graceful, but it was entrancing nonetheless. Q danced by himself in the centre of the floor, not caring that he was dancing by himself amongst a sea of people who were there as part of couples or groups of friends. His arms flailed all over the place and there were more than a few moves that looked as though they should be done by a dad. Q clearly didn’t care though; his eyes were closed and he was completely lost in the music. Bond didn’t know how long he watched Q for but it didn’t seem to be long at all; he was fascinated by the fact that Q seemed as much in his element here as he was in front of his monitors in Q-branch.

All too soon, his time came to a sudden end when Q seemed to rouse himself from his trance and, running his hands through the ridiculous mop of hair, stopped dancing and looked around the room. It was time to leave. As much as he wanted to stay and continue watching, Q was heading towards the bar and Bond wasn’t going to take too many risks. Instead, he walked out and headed home. Even though he had sworn that he would never get involved with anybody who was an employee of MI6, Bond couldn’t deny that when it came to Q, he was more than tempted.

He was fucked.


	3. A Little Bit Closer

Bond would be lying if he said that Q hadn’t preyed on his mind since his little discoveries. In fact, there had been little else on his mind. How could there be? Q was so far from the identikit boffins with very little personality or spine that had always seemed to populate Q-branch; there were so many different facets to Q that Bond had the feeling that he would be constantly discovering new things. And all of it came wrapped in an incredibly attractive package.

As enlightening as tailing Q had been, it didn’t enable him to talk to Q. The problem was manufacturing situations where it was actually possible for them to talk. Bond was back on full-time missions, all of them short-term but in all corners of the world. It was on these missions where Bond had discovered on part of his missions that had been impacted by his recent attraction to Q; he was finding it hard to be interested in, to _want_ , anyone else.

He had always viewed sex as merely just another tool of the trade. It was something that could be used, whether it be for assistance or information. He had always enjoyed sex and he was good at it so he had never been too fussed by the myriad of lovers that he had had all around the world. At the time, he had been attracted to them but the majority of them had been pretty forgettable. Vesper had been an exception but an exception that had proved bad for him. He could only hope that she had been an exception in her behaviour and not an exception because of the way that he had felt about her. He had the feeling that, were anything similar were to happen involving Q, it would have far more of a destructive impact on him than Vesper had had. And that was a very scary thought, one that Bond tried not to dwell on.

Still, that was hard to do when it seemed as though Q had decided that nobody but him would be on the comms and in Bond’s ear for his missions. Regardless of where Bond was, what time it was back in London and what other missions were going on, Q was always there for Bond. It was simultaneously hugely distracting and incredibly helpful. In the case of the latter, it was a mission in Riga and the woman in question was expecting to be bedded in return for the information. There was no denying her beauty but Bond struggled to raise even a vague interest in her. In fact, it was only be envisioning his Quartermaster instead that Bond was able to perform at all.

However, it was an incident in Barbados that made Bond realise that he couldn’t continue like this because he wasn’t going to be able to do his job properly; he was going to do something stupid. He either needed to do something about Q or forget about him.

It had been a simple assassination mission. The man in question was an ex-pat who was flooding the UK market with drugs that had been cut with allsorts and were believed to be responsible for at least then deaths in the last couple of months. MI6 wanted him dead and had dispatched Bond. It was a joy to be in the Caribbean away from the cold, dreary damp of London and Bond had always liked Barbados. It was a simple enough mission; a couple of days of observation, take the man out and then back to London. As always, Q was in Bond’s ear and had clearly grown more comfortable with Bond because he had kept up a steady stream of chatter while Bond had observed; a mix of sarcastic comments, his own observations and more than a few sentences that could definitely be deemed flirtatious. Bond had replied at one point and Q had responded with a surprisingly husky laugh that had left Bond adjusting himself awkwardly. Having absolutely no intention of sitting with a hard-on for the next few hours, Bond made a quick assessment of the situation and took the shot. The mark dropped like a stone as Bond took apart his rifle, stowing it in the boot of his car and haring back to the bungalow that he had been staying in, ignoring the enraged squawking of Q in his ear.

The instant that he got back to the bungalow, Bond headed straight for the bathroom, shrugging out of the light shirt and trousers that he had been wearing along the way. His gun and earwig were dropped by the side of the bathroom sink as he turned the shower on. He barely waited for the water to heat up before he was stepping into the cubicle, quickly sluicing himself with water before his hand went to his still half-hard cock. Turning his mind to his Quartermaster, it didn’t take much for him to be fully erect once more. Bracing himself against the wall of the shower, he brought up the mental picture of Q in his knickers and stockings as he started stroking his cock. He didn’t have the patience to make it last, he just needed to come so he sped up his pace, brushing his thumb over the tip of his cock. In the end, it was the mental image of Q on his knees in front of Bond wearing his knickers and stockings, peering up through that ridiculous mop of hair that tipped Bond over the edge into orgasm, shouting loudly as he came harder than he had done for a long time.

Slumping against the wall on slightly shaky legs, he focused on slowing down both his heartbeat and his breathing before he felt able to move again. He had just finished washing himself clean when he heard something that made him freeze, a sound that shouldn’t be there in the deserted bungalow. Reaching out of the cubicle for his gun, he turned the shower off as soon as he had his weapon in his hand. Just in time as well. The second that he did, he heard the sound of footsteps outside the bathroom door which were closely followed by the sound of gunshots. Bond got a couple of shots off before the bathroom door was kicked fully open to reveal a local who had clearly worked for the man that Bond had recently killed. The glass of the shower cubicle was first to shatter followed by the mirror, shards of glass and chips of porcelain flying everywhere as the two men traded shots.

A lucky shot from Bond hit the man in his thigh, sending him to the floor at the same time that he ran out of bullets, his last barely grazing Bond’s bicep. Hissing slightly at the pain, Bond brought his gun up and took aim. He had no intention of drawing this out for too long; it was completely unnecessary. Instead, he took aim and fired, watching emotionlessly as the man slumped to the floor, blood pooling on the pristine white tiles.

 

 

Crouching down, keeping his gun trained on the man, Bond checked the man’s pulse to ensure that he was dead before standing up and putting his gun back down on the counter. Wrapping a towel around his waist and replacing the earwig, he was immediately assaulted by the sound of Q’s voice.

“Bond? _Bond?_ BOND! I’m going to fucking kill you the minute I get my hands on you, do you realise that?”

“Nice to know how you feel about me, Q.”

“Bond, what the hell just happened?”

“Just a minor scuffle Q, although you might want to get someone in to clean up the mess before housekeeping get here.”

“Honestly, you just live to make work for me don’t you? Minor scuffle, my arse. Somebody will come and take care of the gentleman; you’re booked on the next flight to Heathrow leaving Grantley Adams International Airport in approximately four hours.”

“Understood, Q.”

“I’ll see you back in London, 007. And I expect to have all of my equipment returned, especially that rifle that I know you stole from the testing labs.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Q. 007 out.”

Bond packed his few things and headed for the airport. His distraction over Q had nearly gotten him killed; it was time to do something about it. He was going to ask Q out when he got back to the UK.

(~*~)

Of course, it wasn’t that simple. When was it ever? He was back in London barely long enough to write his AAR before he was sent off on another mission, this time to Sri Lanka. Sri Lanka was followed by Tunisia, Egypt, Georgia and a joint mission with Felix Leiter in the States, all of them barely with any downtime between shipping out again. None of this gave him the opportunity to ask Q out on a date. Unable to ask him out, Bond instead settled for bringing him back little trinkets from whatever country he had been in.

He wasn’t under any illusions that Q kept all of them because some of them were just bits of tat from tourist markets but he liked to think that Q at least kept the different types of tea that he brought back. It was after his seventh mission in a row that Bond decided to bite the bullet and just ask Q. He had just returned from a potentially disastrous mission to Belize, one where Q had been on the comms the entire time. He had a bullet graze to the thigh and a cut to the temple but neither of them really bothered him and when he entered Q-branch, Q looked as exhausted as Bond felt. The invitation to dinner had just slipped out and he been as surprised by the words that had escaped his mouth as he was by the fact that Q had actually accepted. Q looked just as surprised but Bond had decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth and had swiftly arranged a meeting time and disappeared to make the necessary phone calls.

Bond had chosen Albannach, a Scottish restaurant in Trafalgar Square that he favoured and was guaranteed to get a table at, regardless of how late he phoned them. He’d done a patch-job on the slight bullet-graze to his thigh and changed into the spare suit he kept at Vauxhall before pulling the Aston round from the carpark and picking Q up outside the main entrance. He had noticed that Q seemed a bit bemused by everything as Bond drove over the river and further into central London but paid it no mind as he ushered them into the restaurant where they were then shown to a secluded table and handed menus. Q had been quiet the entire time but spoke up once they had been left alone.

“I don’t understand, why go to all of this effort? Especially just for me. It isn’t as though this is a … Bond, is this supposed to be a date?”

Bond had wanted to sink into the ground into mortification. How could Q have thought that this was anything other than a date? And of course, that was the precise moment that the waiter materialised at their table to take their order. Still, Q showed no sign of running away in horror and Bond supposed that, if he was going to be stuck having an incredibly awkward evening, at least there would be good food and whisky.

“We just need a few more minutes thanks. And a Macallan. Double.”

~*~

Bond was still chafing more than a little over the disaster that had been the dinner at Albannach. He still wasn’t entirely sure what had gone wrong and that wasn’t something that he liked. It hadn’t stopped him from spending as much time down in Q-branch flirting with Q. He was slowly compiling a mental list of things that made Q blush and which things made him yell and even, on one occasion, throw things at Bond. Currently, the second list was longer. That didn’t bother Bond though as he was more than happy to simply bide his time. For once, he was relishing the thrill of the chase.

The minions were growing more accustomed to his presence as well and they no longer cringed away whenever he entered the tunnels. They weren’t exactly crowding him for conversation but it was an improvement.

He was sat on a table out of the way waiting for Q or Danielle to appear in the hope that they could find him some explosives to play with or guns to test when all of a sudden the doors behind him opened and the minions looked more terrified than they had done. Bond was about to turn and see who was causing the fuss when a familiar voice reached his ears and everything made sense.

“Brother! A little bird told me I would find you down here. Apparently you’re practically living down here these days.”

Bond barely had time to stand up and turn around before he was wrapped in an immense bear hug that, if he hadn’t been used to it, would have left him struggling for breath. Alec Trevelyan, or 006 as he was also known, was a muscled blond standing barely half an inch taller than Bond. Despite being Russian by birth, Alec had served in the Royal Navy and the SBS with Bond before they had joined MI6, Alec gaining his double-0 status just a year after Bond.

“Eve Moneypenny needs to learn how to keep her mouth shut,” Bond grumbled but moved down the bench when he was nudged. “Have you finished blowing things up in the Motherland then?”

“It was Eastern Europe this time and yes. I’m grounded for at least two weeks so I was wondering…”

“Yes, you can stay with me. New flat means your bedroom is as far from me as possible so I don’t have to hear you snoring.”

Alec let out a bark of laughter that startled one particularly twitchy-looking minion so much she squealed and dropped her stack of files. This, of course, made Alec laugh harder and drew the attention of a returning Q.

“Bond! Trevelyan! If you’re going to cause trouble then you can do it away from my branch.”

Alec gave Q a jaunty salute as he slung an arm around Bond’s shoulder. “As you command, Quartermaster. Come on James, I’ll buy you lunch at Mari Vanna and you can tell me which one of the little boffins you want to shag. That can be the only reason you’re down here all the time.”

(~*~)

The morning after Alec’s return, the very last thing that Bond wanted to happen was to be called into M’s office for his input on an upcoming mission. It was a testament to the quality of the vodka that, despite the quantity that they had drunk, he wasn’t feeling hung-over as he got the tube down to Vauxhall. Mari Vanna was a Russian restaurant in Knightsbridge and had been a favourite of Alec’s for years, and Alec was a favoured customer of theirs, with the owners and staff always seating them at a table where they could see all of the entrances and exits. They had gorged themselves on borsch, salted herring and Siberian pelmeni as well as vodka and, by the time they had demolished the first bottle, Bond had divulged exactly who it was in Q-branch that he was interested in.

Alec had laughed so hard that he had almost choked. Q clearly hadn’t been the person that he had been expecting. Bond had scowled at his friend but had been able to see Alec’s amusement. Alec had long known that Bond wasn’t particularly fussy as to the sex of his partners and he didn’t care. He was more amused that it was Q that Bond was interested in and was hanging around Q-branch for, even commenting that Bond was punching well above his weight as Q had both beauty and brains. Bond had kicked him under the table for that but hadn’t refuted Alec’s words. Finally, as they were leaving the restaurant, Alec had clapped Bond on the shoulder hard and told him that, as long as he didn’t try to leave the Service again if it all went tits up, he should go for it; that Q would be a lucky man to have him, and Bond doubly so. He could have done without Alec texting him supposedly helpful hints every hour as to how he could convince Q to go out with him though, particularly given the nature of some of Alec’s suggestions.

Arriving in the executive offices, he was immediately waved through to M’s office where he found Tanner waiting for him as well as M. The former handed him a file that Bond opened and started to read upon M’s indication. The target was one that they’d been after for a while but, until now, they hadn’t had an opportunity to get him. The man in question, Tarif Baudin, was half-French half-Moroccan and presented himself as a businessman. He had started out as a small-time player in a variety of gangs – dealing drugs and guns – before moving his way up the chain of command, until he was running his own network of gun-runners, drug dealers and smugglers. In recent years, he had made the move into the far more lucrative world of intelligence sharing and hacking.

It was believed that he had recruited numerous hackers who would acquire whatever information was wanted for the right price. He was believed to have made several attempts on the MI6 servers only to be rebuffed by Q’s defences. However, he had made it known that the regional branches of MI6 dotted around the world weren’t as secure as Q-branch and he could get whatever information was required for the right price. Taking into consideration the quality of the hackers working for him and what had happened with Silva, M wanted him dealt with.

That was where Bond came in.

They were planning on sending Bond in posing as a potential client but they had one main problem. Needing information wouldn’t get them a meeting with Baudin himself; it would just get them an introduction to an underling. What they needed was someone to draw in the main man himself. That was where the second person on the mission came in. Tarif Baudin was known for having certain tastes, tastes that he had no problem with people knowing. While most men that Bond had dealt with had tastes for beautiful women, Baudin favoured beautiful young men. His bodyguards were often sent out to local escort agencies and brothels to find suitable boys for Baudin to slake his lust. He was particularly fond of beautiful, slim, dark-haired young men that he would often dress up in items of lingerie before he fucked them. Where clients were concerned, Baudin particularly liked it if the young men in question were in relationships with the client. MI6 were planning on using this particular piece of information to lure Baudin himself into a meeting.

The plan was that Bond and the second agent would pose as a couple in a relationship and Bond would use photographs of the second agent trussed up in the items of clothing as a bargaining chip. If this granted them a meeting with Baudin himself, the man in question would be offered an evening with the second agent as a sweetener for the deal and the plan was that, during the course of this evening, Bond would be able to both gather the information that MI6 needed and deal with Baudin.

It was only due to the necessity of the agents portraying such a close relationship that Bond had been called in and asked for suggestions as to who he thought would work, something that would normally never happen.

“Any suggestions, Bond?”

Bond took scant seconds before he blurted out his suggestion. “How about Q? None of the field agents have the right look for what we need and they need to look right to get us the meeting with Baudin. If we don’t get the meeting then the mission is pointless. Q might not be a field agent but he has exactly the right look that we need and R is more than capable of running Q-branch for the duration of the mission. It won’t be a long one anyway. Besides, Q isn’t totally incapable; he has range scores better than the majority of the double-0’s and you know that he’s a brilliant hacker. He’s perfect for this mission.”

“Tanner?” M turned to his second in command for confirmation of Bond’s words.

“Bond is actually correct. Q performs the initial tests on all of the weaponry and he does fit the profile for the second agent. He’s also the best hacker there is. R is also more than capable of taking over his duties for the duration of the mission. We can always do our best to ensure that there aren’t too many double-0’s are out in the field to try and cut down on too many potential problems.”

“Very well. Q will be your second for this mission then, 007. We still have about a week left to finalise details of the mission and continue reviewing the intelligence that we currently have so please keep this to yourself until we have informed Q. 007, you’re dismissed.”

“M, Tanner.” Bond nodded at both men and left the room.

Still somewhat buoyed by his conversation with Alec the previous evening, and feeling rather pleased with himself for having suggested Q for the mission, Bond made his way down to Q-branch. It was time to persuade Q to go out with him again and there was no time like the present. Hopefully Q was in a benevolent mood and would actually listen to Bond before shooting him down in flames.

He was in luck. Apparently one of Q’s pet projects had done incredibly well in preliminary tests and this meant that he could submit it for funding from the higher-ups. Bond was still hoping for an exploding pen but, failing that, he was just hoping for new toys to play with. At least with this Q, he knew that whatever new toys he was going to be given would work. He had stopped off in the break room to make some tea, hoping that it would help sweeten the deal, but all it had done was make Q’s eyes narrow in suspicion as Bond approached him at his station.

“What have you done Bond? You haven’t been on a mission so you can’t have blown up a country. You don’t have any equipment out to break or not return to me so why are you bringing me tea?”

“Are you always this suspicious when someone brings you tea?”

“No, not if it’s Danielle or one of the minions. If it’s one of the double-0’s then of course I am. There’s always a reason you’re bringing me tea and it’s never a good one.”

“I take offence at that Q. I’ve been bringing you back presents for weeks now and I’ve been returning my equipment as well. It might not always be in one piece but at least I’m bringing you all the pieces.”

“Hmm, I suppose you’re correct.” Q reached out and accepted the tea from Bond, taking a sip and humming in appreciation. “At least you make better tea than 006. Now, what the hell do you want?”

“Do I have to want something?”

“Bond, just get on with it. I know that you want something so you might as well ask while I’m in a benevolent mood.”

“Dinner? Tonight? And just to clarify, yes, it’s a date.”

Bond found himself holding his breath as Q gave him a piercing look before taking one more sip of his tea and turning his attention back to his computer screen. Bond had to resist the urge to ask him again, doing his best to wait patiently, even as he was aware of all the eyes on himself and Q.

“Yes.”

He found himself staring stupidly at Q, not quite sure if he had heard correctly. “I’m sorry?”

“Yes. To dinner, I mean. On one condition.” Q continued talking at a gesture from Bond. “Firstly, I get to choose where we go. You’re probably thinking about taking me somewhere like The Delaunay and that’s just not going to happen. Nothing like last time.”

“Absolutely, you can pick where we’re going. I’ll pick you up at 7.” Bond turned to walk out of Q-branch, mainly so that nobody saw the grin that he was desperately trying to hide.

“Don’t even think about picking me up in the Aston again, Bond. And don’t even think about wearing a suit. You do know what a pair of jeans is, don’t you?”

~*~

Breaking the news to Q that he was being sent on a mission hadn’t gone down well at all and he had barely stayed in M’s office long enough to be handed the mission file and be told when they were due to leave, before he was storming out, issuing a command for Bond to follow behind him. Bond shared a rueful look with Tanner and, after a further summons yelled at him from beyond the door, followed after Q with his own copy of the file in hand.

The instant that the door had swung closed behind Bond, Q was yelling at him and, given the fact that nobody would have been able to miss Q storming through the branch, Bond really hoped that Q’s office was soundproofed. This wasn’t exactly a conversation that the whole department needed to hear.

“What the hell gives you the right to suggest me for a mission Bond? I’m an executive, a branch head, not a bloody field agent. Why would you even suggest me? Is this your attempt to get me into bed? You’ve gotten bored of the fact that I won’t sleep with you that you decided to get me assigned to a mission because you’re so bloody arrogant that you think I’ll just fall into your bed and let you have your way with me like the countless women who had done precisely that.”

“If I wanted you to just fall into my bed then you would have caved weeks ago. Then again, I don’t make the mistake of bedding people that I work with.”

“So what the hell has all of this been about then? The attempts at dating? The kissing? You want a relationship with me?” Q’s tone was mocking but he paused when Bond failed to respond. “Oh that’s rich. And the biggest load of bollocks that I’ve ever heard. James Bond, legendary lothario, wants a relationship with the skinny, _male_ Quartermaster. The world must be ending. Now, you’ve had your fun, pick somebody who is actually suited for this role. Surely there’s a field agent who is a better fit?”

“On the contrary, have you actually read the mission brief?” Bond ignored the dig at him, despite the brief pang of hurt. “You fit one of the profiles perfectly, better than any of the field agents that we’ve currently got. No, you’re not a field agent but you have the unique skill set necessary for this mission.”

“And what might that be?”

“We need a hacker, a very skilled hacker at that and you’re the best.” Bond paused before he spoke again, knowing that the next part of the conversation wasn’t going to go well. “There’s also the nature of the target. He’s known for having certain predilections. He also has something of a taste for slim, dark-haired young men. Men who wear certain items of clothing normally worn by women.”

Bond watched as all of the blood drained from Q’s face although his voice remained steady when he spoke. “And why do you think that makes me suitable?”

“Because I know that you wear said items of clothing outside of work, Q.”

“And how the fuck could you possibly know that?” Q’s voice was as cold as ice and, even though he had known it in the back of his mind for a while, Bond finally realised that he had completely fucked things up.

“I, um …” For once, Bond was completely lost for the words that he needed to talk himself out of the situation.

“Well, come on. I’m waiting. How the fuck do you know what I do in the little spare time that I get away from this place. Something that is completely private; something that I didn’t want anybody at work to know about. Come on, I want an answer. And don’t even think about trying to bullshit me; I do not have the patience for it. I want the truth.”

“I’ve seen you.”

“You’ve seen me. No, really? Of course you’ve seen me. That would be the only way that you could know. However, that would imply that you broke into my home because that is the only place that I wear … _those particular clothes._ So, I would like you to explain precisely what you were thinking in doing breaking into my home and spying on me?”

“You intrigued me. M was refusing to let me out on missions, saying that I wasn’t field-fit and I had far too much time on my hands. I found your file but there was nothing in it, just a name that I’m fairly certain is fake and a fake address. So, I decided to try and find some information out about you through other means. Utilise my skills so to speak.”

“I _intrigued_ you? And that gave you the right to stalk me?”

“It wasn’t exactly stalking,” Bond tried to defend himself but he knew that it was weak and that, truly, he had no excuse.

“I should report you to M for this. I could get you thrown out of the Service.”

“But you’re not going to?”

“For some unknown reason, I’m not going to. Get out of my sight Bond; I don’t want to see you right now. I will see you at St. Pancras in time for our train.”

Bond turned to leave, only to pause as he reached the door. “Q …”

“I’ll be there Bond. I might be pissed off with you but I will still complete this mission. Just … just go.”

Bond left Q’s office to find Alec and the biggest bottle of either vodka or whisky that he could – at this point in time, he didn’t care which it was as long as there was copious amounts of alcohol involved. There were three days before he and Q were supposed to depart London for Paris on the Eurostar and all he could do was hope that his fuck up wouldn’t have ramifications for the mission. He knew that Q would be the consummate professional and do his job but they had to be a couple for this mission and that wasn’t going to be quite so easy to fake if Q hated him.

Maybe if he hadn’t fucked up, they wouldn’t be faking it.


	4. A Dangerous Game/Dance Into The Fire

Bond found himself at St. Pancras International uncharacteristically early. Normally when he was off on missions, he had been assigned at last minute and was the last to board the plane having arrived straight from MI6 or he was deliberately last to board the plane as he couldn’t stand hanging around in airports. This time however, he was there well before he had to be, nursing a fairly crap coffee as he looked for any sign of Q.

Out of respect for Q, and not wanting to antagonise him further, he had stayed away from MI6 completely for the first two days after Q had blown up at him. Part of that had been because he had spent most of the time drinking with Alec. He had never been more grateful that he and the Russian agent had been in London at the same time. Instead of going out for dinner at one of their usual haunts, they had called for takeaway and then proceeded to drain the wet bar in Bond’s flat dry. In fact, it was a lucky thing that they had started drinking before Bond explained precisely why they were getting so drunk because by the time he had related the whole drama, they were too drunk to do any real damage to each other.

Alec was a huge advocate of Q and had been since he had taken on the mantle of Quartermaster. He was an even bigger advocate of Q as a potential partner for Bond and had really pushed for the two of them. Alec was the only person who truly knew the impact that Vesper’s betrayal had had on Bond, having been there to ensure that Bond made it through that particular bender alive and without alcohol poisoning. Similarly, he had been there in the aftermath of Skyfall and M’s death. It was almost as though Alec had a chip implanted that informed him when Bond needed him as he had always made it back to Bond, wherever he was, within a couple of days.

Alec had known that Bond had done his own _investigation_ (Alec, blunt as he was, had called it what it was – stalking) but hadn’t known that Bond had taken it a step further by recommending him for a mission. He hadn’t been impressed. On the third day, the day before Bond had to report to Q-branch for his equipment and any final information, they had gone out for a rare indulgence for them – a full English breakfast designed to banish the lingering effects of so much alcohol although Alec had once again proved that he seemingly had vodka running through his veins instead of blood as he didn’t have so much as a foggy head. He had also proved that he did indeed have some brains as he had come up with a plan for the Paris mission that would, hopefully, allow Bond the opportunity to rectify things with Q.

When he finally made it into Vauxhall and Q-branch, Bond was completely unsurprised to find that Q wasn’t present and that R was waiting to hand over all of his equipment. A distinctly unimpressed R, who was the frostiest that Bond had ever seen her, handing over the equipment with curt descriptions of what he was receiving. She then proceeded to give him all of the necessary information for the mission before moving on to what she truly wanted to say.

“Whatever the hell you’ve done to Q, I want you to sort it out. He’s been absolutely vicious for the last few days and I don’t like the branch being upset. I don’t like _him_ being upset. I’ve spoken to 006 so I know what you’re planning and I’m completely on board. 006 and Agent Stubbs will be in Paris as back-up for you, should they be needed. I want you to come back from Paris having made this up to him. Beg, plead, grovel; do what you have to do. Understand?”

“Completely. Thank you, R.”

“007.”

The time towards the departure time for their time steadily ticked away until Bond felt that he couldn’t linger any longer and headed for the train with his luggage. Once on board, he sat facing the moving walkway drumming his fingers impatiently against the table as he waited for Q to make his appearance. Finally, just as they were making the final calls for their departure, Bond saw a familiar mop of messy hair heading towards the train before he disappeared out of sight as, presumably, he boarded. Q had cut things so close that they had actually started moving before he had appeared in the carriage and Bond couldn’t hold back the sigh of relief when Q moved towards him and their reserved seats.

“Q, good to see you.”

“Save the pleasantries Bond, I told you that I would be here and I am. We’re here to do a mission so let’s discuss said mission.”

Bond’s heart sank slightly but, in all honesty, he hadn’t been expecting Q to be anything other than professional and, even though it would be distracting having to do the mission without resolving anything, it probably was better that they got the mission out of the way first.

(~*~)

When he had first suggested using Q as the second agent for this mission and discovered that in doing so they would be using Eurostar rather than flying, Bond had envisioned something rather similar to the train ride he had taken to Montenegro with Vesper. He had imagined a nice dinner, a bit of talk about the mission and some flirting. What actually happened couldn’t be further from what he had envisaged.

As with the Montenegro trip, the entire carriage of business-premier seats had been booked out so they were the only occupants and had been checked for bugs, which meant that they were perfectly safe to discuss the mission. While Q had sat with Bond at the table for four while they had discussed a few points to tide them over until they reached their hotel, the minute that they had finished, he had moved over to a single seat out of Bond’s view and pulled out his laptop. He had refused the complimentary champagne and dinner when it was offered and had focused single-mindedly on his computer screen.

Faced with the option of sitting in silence with a seething Q and nothing to do, Bond headed for the dining kiosk in the hope of a bit of mindless conversation and hopefully something a bit stronger than champagne.

~*~

Having arrived in Paris, they went straight to the Shangri La; the hotel that they had been booked into for the duration of their time there. It was more ostentatious than what Bond would normally choose but it fitted the profile of the man that he was portraying. Leaving Q in the hotel room, Bond left with a briefcase full of money, intended to prove that he had the funds necessary for Baudin to accept him as a client. He had just been about to walk out of the door when Q had thrust an envelope at him with the muttered words, “An added incentive,” before turning his attention back to setting up his laptop and equipment.

Bond had just about waited until he was in the relative privacy of the lift to open the envelope and know what he would be handing over. He almost wished as though he hadn’t looked when jealousy stabbed through him. He didn’t want to hand these over for Baudin to slaver over. He wanted to keep these for himself, hidden away so that nobody else could see them. Even though he knew that it was entirely possible that Q had taken these photos by himself with the camera on a timer, irrationally he _needed_ to know if anybody else had seen Q like this, had helped him take the photos.

 

 

The photos in question had been shot with the intention to titillate and draw in Baudin and Bond had no doubt that they would do exactly that. There were six photos in the envelope, each showing Q in a different attitude although he was wearing the same clothing in each one. Long legs were covered by sheer black stockings attached to a black garter belt and the only other items Q wore were black knickers and a stark white shirt that looked far too large for him. Despite the desperate urge to keep the photos for himself, Bond tucked them back into the envelope just as somebody else entered the lift. As much as he disliked it, he and Q were here to do a job and, after everything that had already happened, he had no intention of letting Q down again.

Once out of the hotel, he headed down towards the Jardins du Trocadéro, and the small bar that he had already agreed to meet Baudin’s representative in, at a brisk pace. He disliked this mission more and more with every passing moment and he wished more than ever that he hadn’t recommended Q for it. He should have just gone with one of the junior field agents and forced them into the stockings. All he could do was hope that they achieved everything as quickly and simply as possible.

Knowing his luck, he wasn’t holding out too much hope.

“We have a dinner meeting with Baudin tomorrow at Le Jules Verne.” At Q’s blank look, Bond elaborated, “It’s the restaurant on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower. You can’t get in there without reservations. He’s trying to show his wealth, trying to intimidate us.”

“Well, in that case, he’s got another thing coming.”

Bond grinned at Q’s assertive statement. He loved how feisty the Quartermaster was, even on a mission where he was undoubtedly out of his depth. “You’re very right. I’ve made reservations for us in L’Abeille, the restaurant downstairs. You’ve got about two hours before we have to be downstairs.”

“I’m sorry?” Q’s voice was like ice. “We’re here to complete this mission not for you to wine and dine me in an attempt to get back into my good books.”

Bond managed to supress his growl of frustration. “Q, would you please give me a bit more credit than that. I am more than capable of being professional and I wish you could see that. Baudin’s men are going to be watching us. They will know that we’re staying here and they’re under the impression that we’re in a relationship. That’s half of the reason that we’ve got the meeting with Baudin and they need to see proof. Seeing the two of us having a supposedly romantic dinner will help that.”

“Very well; as long as it’s just for the mission.”

Bond rolled his eyes and headed for the balcony, casting a quick glance at where Q sat, tapping away at his laptop. He might have given up smoking a long time ago but he was in need of something to do and he hoped that the tobacco might help. Unfortunately alcohol wasn’t an option; he was going to have to be seen drinking tonight and he had to keep a clear head as much as possible.

~*~

The following evening, the two of them made their way across the river towards the Eiffel Tower, both of them feeling more than a little uneasy about the upcoming evening. It had taken everything Bond had to resist watching Q dress and, as he had done so, he had hated himself for making Q do this for a mission when it was quite clear that Q didn’t want to. Not wanting to take any chances, Bond ensured that, in addition to his Walther, he had a second gun at his ankle and a knife strapped to his left forearm, all of them carefully concealed by his suit. He heard Q grumbling that there was nowhere for him to conceal a weapon of his own and, not caring if Q was dressed or not, walked out to where Q had been dressing.

Q was far from ready but he was at least-clothed, albeit in very little. Looking a bit closer, Bond was hit by a pang of lust as he realised that the white shirt that Q was currently wearing over his knickers and garter belt didn’t belong to Q, it belonged to Bond. He must have made a noise because Q looked up and, after only a minute, realised what had resulted in Bond’s reaction.

“Yes, I’m wearing one of your shirts. Do try not to read too much into it. Danielle suggested it; something about making me appear more appealing to Baudin. Was there something that you wanted?”

Bond swallowed heavily, trying to moisten his suddenly incredibly dry throat. “What? Oh, um, I brought you this. I thought you might be able to find somewhere to put it and it would be good if you were armed as well.” Bond handed over a small 9mm Beretta Nano, which was a subcompact handgun perfect for concealment and particularly useful for Q.

“Thank you Bond, I appreciate it.”

The dinner itself passed without any incidents. It wasn’t his favourite type of restaurant but even Bond couldn’t deny that Le Jules Verne was an impressive setting. What he really disliked was the fact that he had to portray himself as being in a relationship with Q while Baudin was fawning all over him.

He had to give Q credit though; he was a bloody good actor. He was perfectly playing the part of Bond’s younger lover, constantly leaning into him and touching his forearm or entwining their fingers, even pressing the occasional kiss to the underside of Bond’s jaw. But, he was also managing to shyly respond to the attention Baudin was paying him, even flirting a little in response. With plenty of good alcohol, it didn’t take much for Baudin to extend the offer of a further meeting; one that would take place in his hotel room.

Bond was convinced that he had been the only person to see Q’s minute shudder as Bond accepted the invitation and, as much as he hated the idea of this whole thing progressing, he knew that it had to be done. As soon as the dinner was finished, they had followed Baudin back across to the river to the luxury suite that he was renting in a hotel close to the Place de Trocadéro. Bond felt a faint sense of unease but he tamped down on it, assuming that it was because Q was involved rather than anything else. Bond placed a hand on the small of Q’s back, both as a means of contact for him but also to try and keep up the pretence that they were involved. As he did so, he could feel the slight bulk of the Beretta that he had given Q and relief washed over him. Keeping Q safe was still going to be his priority but at least he knew that Q wasn’t going to be completely defenceless.

There was nothing out of the ordinary when they entered the suite but it was maybe that, more than anything, which meant that Bond still felt on edge. There had been no sign of bodyguards at any point in the evening and that set alarm bells ringing; Baudin was by no means a small-time player and he wouldn’t have stayed alive or as successful for as long as he had without taking some precautions. As though he sensed Bond’s unease, Q turned to look at him and Bond hoped that he had also picked up on things. More than anything now he was regretting Q being here.

Once inside the suite, Bond clocked all of the entrances and exits, taking note of an extra door that looked as though it could lead to an adjoining suite before moving towards the seat that he had been offered. He saw Q’s eyes gravitate towards the two laptops that sat on the table, even as he stayed close to Bond. Wanting to try and reassure him, Bond wrapped an arm around Q’s waist, rubbing his thumb against Q’s hip and pressed a kiss to his temple. Q stiffened momentarily, not noticeable to anyone but Bond, before he relaxed. In contrast to the two of them, Baudin was the epitome of relaxation, sprawled across the sofa facing them.

“So, Mr Stirling, I believe that we had an agreement. You offered your little _lover_ as a sweetener for information, yes?”

“That’s correct,” Bond could barely force the words out of his throat and he knew that his difficulty had been picked up on.

“Well then.” Baudin spread his legs further and beckoned for Q. “By all means, little toy, undress first. Those photos were quite remarkable and I would love to see the real thing.”

Bond could feel his hands clenching and he struggled to control his breathing, something that Q couldn’t fail to see.

“Focus on the mission, 007.” The words were barely audible, Q counting on Bond’s ability to lip read, before raising his voice so that Baudin could hear. “It’s fine Richard, we agreed.”

Bond watched as Q toed off his shoes and bent over to take off his socks before removing his jacket and trousers but leaving his shirt on. As he did so, he kept his back to Bond, ensuring that Baudin didn’t see even the slightest flash of the subcompact handgun that he was concealing at the small of his back. He may not be trained as a field agent but Q was certainly doing a damn good job; better than some of the junior agents that Bond had been forced to work with in the past.

Still, watching Q walk across the room to Baudin was one of the hardest things that Bond had done in a long time and it wasn’t made any easier when Baudin pulled Q onto his lap, fisting a hand in his hair and making Q twist his neck awkwardly. Bond’s hands clenched on the arms of the chair and he had to resist the urge to go for his gun as Baudin leant in to kiss an unwilling Q, the other man laughing as he kept Q in place, forcing him to accept the kiss before pulling back.

“Now, perhaps you can answer a question for me before we go any further, Mr Stirling? Although I have no doubt that Richard Stirling is not your real name. Perhaps you can tell me why the Quartermaster of MI6 is on an assignment playing a cheap whore.”

“Fuck!

Q twisted violently in an attempt to get himself out of Baudin’s grasp, practically throwing himself away from the man with a cry and hitting his head on the table as he reached round to the small of his back where he had used the garter belt as a temporary holster for the gun Bond had given him.

Bond couldn’t stop himself from moving out of the chair to check on Q, only to reel back as Baudin hit him in the jaw with a powerful right hook, taking advantage of his preoccupation, barely missing Q who was picking himself up off the floor where he had landed. How could Bond have misjudged the situation so badly? Why had he ignored his gut feeling that things weren’t right? How the fuck did Baudin know who they were? Two men who were clearly Baudin’s bodyguards appeared from what Bond had assumed to be the adjoining suite as Baudin made a dash for it out of the main door. Bond hesitated, not wanting to leave Q who looked more vulnerable than Bond had ever seen him look. But Q was clearly having none of Bond’s overprotectiveness and reached for the Beretta, bringing it up to bear against the first of the bodyguards.

“Bond, go after Baudin. I’m quite capable of dealing with these gentlemen and then getting the information that we need. He cannot escape. Go!”

Despite the fact that every part of him was screaming not to leave Q alone, Bond knew that he had to trust in the other man’s abilities and left him to it, haring after Baudin and hoping that he didn’t have too much of a head start. Just as he left the room, informing Alec and the other agent that had been dispatched as back-up what was happening, he heard the sound of two shots that he recognised as belonging to Q’s Beretta and headed off down the corridor, grateful that at least Q was safe.

He made it down to the street and raced into the Place de Trocadéro just in time to see Baudin slipping through a manhole cover. Bond wasted no time in racing over to him, following him down into what he soon realised weren’t the sewers but were in fact the Empire of the Dead; the Paris catacombs. Even were Q not focused on getting the information that MI6 needed from Baudin’s laptop and systems, Bond would be on his own. The catacombs were a two hundred mile network of caves, tunnels and quarries, many of them filled with skulls and bones of the dead. Very little of the network was open to the public and what little was considered safe had no CCTV cameras, very little light and was patrolled by police who did their best to ensure that people didn’t wander away from the supposed safe areas. Unfortunately for Bond, it looked as though Baudin was at least a little familiar with the catacombs and all Bond could hope for was that no tourists got caught in the cross-fire.

(~*~)

In the end, he had been lucky. He didn’t want to think about just how much ground in the catacombs they had covered, taking shots at each other in the darkened tunnels beneath Paris. They had finally ended up in the tunnels that were open to the public and were far better lit. Bond had eventually, after several rather vicious fistfights, managed to bring Baudin down by stabbing him in his Achilles with the knife Bond had had strapped to his forearm. He had managed to cuff Baudin, not really caring that he had probably dislocated his shoulder in the process. He had called in Alec and the other back-up agent before marching Baudin out of the catacombs, earning more than a few strange looks and whispers when he emerged in front of the tourists waiting to enter the catacombs in the Place Denfert-Rochereau.

As Bond had expected, Q was absolutely apoplectic when he discovered that they wouldn’t be returning to London and MI6 with Baudin. Bond knew that if he allowed that to happen, then he ran the very real possibility of losing Q completely as anything other than a superior and he couldn’t let that happen.

“What the hell do you mean ‘we’re staying in Paris a bit longer’? Whatever for? We caught Baudin. Mission over. We need to get him back to Vauxhall and interrogate him.”

“Yes, that needs to happen but it doesn’t need to be us who do it. Alec and Agent Stubbs will get Baudin back to Vauxhall where he will be interrogated by specialist agents. You and I are staying in Paris for an extra couple of days.”

“I highly doubt that MI6 will pick up the tab for us to stay at the Shangri La for an extra couple of days just because you feel like it.”

“They wouldn’t be; I’ll be picking up the tab. And we won’t be staying at the Shangri La. I’ve already had our things moved to L’Hôtel.”

“And if I insist on going back to London?”

“Then I will escort you to the Eurostar myself if that’s what you really want. Please though, just give me a chance to explain. I know I’ve really fucked up but please.”

There was a long pause that felt as though it was going to last forever before Q finally spoke. “I’ll have to phone Danielle and let her know that she’s in charge of the branch for another couple of days. But, I still reserve the right to leave whenever I want.”

“Understood. I’ll leave you to your phone call.” Leaving the room, Bond almost ran into Alec who was waiting outside. “Where’s Baudin?”

“With Agent Stubbs waiting for a pick-up back to Vauxhall. Well? Has Q agreed?”

“You’re far too invested in this Alec,” Bond groused, “but yes, he’s agreed. We’ll be back in London in a few days.”

Whatever Alec was about to say was cut off as the door was flung open behind Bond and Q appeared in the doorway, looking highly unimpressed. “How long have you had this planned for 007? R wasn’t remotely surprised that I wouldn’t be back in Q-branch until next week.”

“I told you Q, I just wanted an opportunity to explain things. Fine, I’m going to change. 006, what are you still doing here? Should you not be on a plane back to London with Baudin?”

“On my way now Quartermaster,” Alec gave a little salute as Q whirled around and slammed the door again behind him before clasping arms with Bond. “Good luck brother, I have a feeling you’ll need it.”

~*~

Now that the official mission had been completed, Bond was eager to get on with his secondary mission – that of resolving the situation with Q – but Q was having none of it. As soon as they were checked in at L’Hôtel, Q was demanding to see Bond’s equipment and booting up his laptop to start writing his AAR report. Alec had definitely been writing about Bond needing luck to get through this successfully.

“Q, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing Bond? You’ve been an agent for long enough now, I’m sure you know what an After Action Report looks like.”

“Well of course I know what an AAR looks like, what I want to know is why you’re filling it out now? We need to talk.”

“No, we need to fill out AAR’s, you need to shower to get rid of the blood and dust that’s clinging to you and I need to check how much damage you’ve done to my equipment. Then I will consider listening to you attempt to explain yourself.”

What could Bond say to that? He knew that he had to tread carefully with this and that, at least for the moment, it was better to acquiesce to Q’s wishes. He had no intention of making things any worse between them. Grabbing his own laptop, he made himself comfortable on the bed as Q was using the desk and pulled up the files to start writing his AAR. After years of writing them, it didn’t take him long to finish and submit the paperwork, hoping that it would placate M seeing as Bond wouldn’t be back in the UK until the following week. By the time he had finished, Q was still completely absorbed in his laptop, whether it be the AAR or he had started going through the information that he had retrieved from Baudin’s laptops and was performing initial analysis that he would send back to Q-branch. Shrugging his shoulders, Bond went to have a shower and rid himself of the dust, blood and general grime that had accumulated during his time in the catacombs. When Q failed to even raise his head from his laptop when he emerged from the bathroom, Bond rolled his eyes and decided to head for the gym. Q clearly had no intention of moving and Bond couldn’t change that, as infuriating as it might be. All he was concerned with was that Q didn’t try to leave Paris before they had the opportunity to talk.

By the time evening fell, Bond had lost his patience with Q who was still sat hunched over his laptop and refusing to talk to Bond. Deciding that he had given Q enough time to seethe, Bond bodily picked him up and moved him away from the desk, saving everything that Q had been working on before shutting down the laptop.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Bond?”

“What does it look like Q? You’ve been sat in front of that computer all day when you know full well that your minions are more than capable of analysing that data. You’re just been trying to avoid me. It stops now. We’re going out for dinner so, you can either walk by yourself or I will carry you; I don’t care which one you pick.”

Q scowled but made no real objection, preceding Bond out of the room even as he muttered about ‘bloody double-0’s’.

Bond directed them towards a nearby bistro that was fairly quiet and had booths that would ensure that they had at least a modicum of privacy. They ordered their food and while Bond had been wondering about how to broach the subject, Q had simply dived straight in.

“So, what do you think you can tell me that I haven’t heard before that could possibly persuade me to forgive you?”

“Q?”

“I spent my evening being gawked at and pawed by a disgusting individual and I want you to explain why you thought that recommending me for this mission was a good idea.”

“I was under the impression that I had already done that. What do you expect to hear that I haven’t already told you?”

“Fine. Tell me everything from the beginning. I’m feeling more rational now, at least slightly. At the very least, I no longer want to kill you slowly and painfully; send you out into the field with a paperclip in lieu of weapons and equipment maybe, but I no longer want to kill you which I think counts for something.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“When did you start following me? And why?”

“Like I said, you fascinated me, that’s how it all started. It was not too long after Skyfall; you’re so different to Boothroyd and I wanted to find out more. I suppose that it truly started after I was back on active service. I broke into M’s office to read your file and found that there was basically nothing of use in there. Not that I was entirely surprised.”

“You broke into M’s office?”

Bond gave a wry grin. “Didn’t you know? I have form for doing that; it’s in my file. I broke into M’s home, the former M, twice. She just told me not to do it again. M’s office was nothing.”

“Why would I know what’s in your file, Bond? I don’t read them. Unless a file contains pertinent information for a specific mission, then I don’t read your personal files. I much prefer to get to know my agents personally.”

That little titbit of information shocked Bond. He hadn’t known that and he found himself incapable of speech for several long minutes.

“The great James Bond incapable of speech. Should I make a note of this momentous speech in my diary? Please continue, Bond.”

“I tried to get information from Eve Moneypenny and Tanner but they refused to give anything up so I resorted to what I do best; espionage. For an MI6 executive, you really do need to pay more attention to your surroundings. You went straight from Vauxhall Cross to your home without checking to see if anyone was tailing you, without taking a circuitous route and without doubling back on yourself at any point. You would be a perfect target for anybody who knew who you were.”

“Even worse, there’s no protection on your flat. You are the Quartermaster of MI6; enemies of the United Kingdom would happily kill you and other agencies want to recruit you. It is truly worrying that you have no alarm systems of any sort and that you leave windows open that are just begging for people to break in.”

“Like you did, you mean.”

“Yes, like I did.”

“So, you broke into my house. What did you do after you broke in? You said that you saw me dressed up; where the hell were you when you saw that?”

“In your linen closet.”

“In my linen closet?! Fuck! What did you do Bond? Peer through the keyhole?” Q choked on his drink as Bond looked anywhere but at Q. “Bloody hell, you did, didn’t you?”

“So, you spied on me before breaking into my home and hiding in my linen closet, watching as I dressed up in stockings and knickers. Was that it? Or was there more?”

“I might have also followed you to a club and seen you dancing.”

“And what happened then?”

“Q, you know all of this. I found you incredibly attractive and you already fascinated me as a person; I’ve never had missions go so quickly when accompanied by your sarcastic comments. I know that spying on you wasn’t the best idea but I tried to rectify that by bringing you gifts from my missions and asking you out on dates but … well, it wasn’t entirely successful. I had thought that getting you assigned to the mission was a good way to get to know you as well as you being a perfect fit for it. I’m just really not well-practiced at the whole normal relationship thing.”

“You do have an incredible talent for stating the obvious don’t you Bond?”

They finished the rest of their meal in silence, Bond producing a credit card to pay for dinner before gesturing for Q to precede him out of the restaurant, almost colliding with the younger man who had stopped on the pavement.

“Thank you for telling me all of this,” Q reached up and pressed a kiss to Bond’s cheek, “but I hope that you can understand that I need time to think about everything.”

After heading back to L’Hôtel, Bond ensured that everything was as it should be and that there weren’t any more underlings of Baudin hanging around. Satisfied that everything was in order, Bond headed towards the door.

“Bond? Where are you going?”

“I’m going for a walk. I don’t think it’s a good idea for either of us if I sleep here tonight. Like you said, you need to think. I’ll meet you in the morning. Good night, Q.”

(~*~)

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

Bond looked up from his coffee and croissant to see Q staring at him with something that looked distinctly like concern. “No. I couldn’t. The bars are open until the early hours of the morning in Pigalle and I’ve just wandered the city since then, visited a few museums.”

“Pigalle? And did you limit yourself to just the bars?”

“Despite what you might think, I am not some sex-crazed fanatic. Yes, I just limited myself to the bars; I have no interest in visiting peep-shows or strip clubs. Why would I? Have we not established that I’m incredibly attracted to you?”

“Attracted to me or not, it hasn’t stopped you from bedding women while on your missions.”

“I can see that I’m still going to have to explain a few more things to you. Will you sit down please?” Bond walked over to the bar, returning with a pot of tea, more coffee for himself and pastries for the both of them, relieved to see that Q had done as he had asked.

“Look, yes, I have still slept with people on my missions but that is a requirement of the job. That is how I view it. I don’t necessarily enjoy having sex with them; in fact, the only way that I’ve been able to have sex on my last few missions has been to picture you in their place.”

“Really?”

“Which part of ‘I’m incredibly attracted to you, both in looks and as a person’ did you not understand, Q?”

“Oh.” Q’s voice was much smaller than Bond had expected and his own voice softened in response, although it was still tinged with frustration.

“Look, I realise that I fucked up majorly but I have admitted this and apologised for it. Are you going to hold it against me forever? Spying is in my nature; it’s what I do, what I’m good at it. I realise that there were better ways of going about it and I know that recommending you for this mission and potentially exposing your private life to work colleagues was probably the worst thing that I could have done but I’m prepared to grovel and beg as much as you require until you forgive me.”

The old Q reappeared as he smirked at Bond’s last words. “You’ve been talking to Danielle haven’t you? That sounds as though it’s something that she would tell you to do.”

“I’m not ashamed to say that I will listen to my betters when the requisite advice is offered. Danielle Marsh definitely falls into that category.”

“Glad to see that you still have some intelligence left.” Q drained his cup of tea and licked his fingers clean of pastry crumbs before he stood. “Seeing as we’re stuck in Paris until tomorrow morning, I’m going to visit several of the museums. Care to join me?”

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“It means that you have a lot of grovelling to do but yes, I’m inclined to forgive you. After all, I can’t expect anything less of a double-0 and besides, I’m attracted to you as well.”

(~*~)

“Will you ever wear them for me? The knickers and stockings? All of it?”

Bond spoke as he trailed his fingers up Q’s spine. Visiting the museums had turned into a truly enjoyable afternoon which had then turned into dinner at Huitrerie Regis and a pleasant walk back to the hotel where Bond had, uncharacteristically, dithered as they had made it to the room that he had booked. When Bond had opened his mouth to ask Q what was going on, Q had simply stepped forward into Bond and kissed him, pulling him back into the room. They had ended up naked and sharing the same bed without having sex but Bond found that, somehow, he didn’t actually mind.

“What is your fascination with them?” Q tilted his head back, propping his chin on Bond’s clavicle. “I just don’t understand it. I mean, yes, there are men who find it attractive but I had never expected you to be one of them.”

Bond paused before he gave his answer, not wanting to say the wrong thing inadvertently. “I don’t think I would find it attractive on anybody but you. I don’t really know what the fascination is, it’s just there. You’re an incredibly attractive man dressed normally but with them on, you’re even more so.”

Bond waited, holding his breath, as Q peered at him, as if to try and verify the truth in what Bond was saying but considering that he was currently without his glasses or contacts, it was more like a squint. Evidently he was satisfied with what he saw as he laid his head back on Bond’s chest but Bond felt as though the conversation was far from over. Neither had he received an answer to his question.

“Q?”

“We’ll see.”

The words were barely a whisper but they satisfied Bond. For now.

~*~

The journey back to London was nothing like the outgoing journey had been. For a start, they had nearly missed their train. Q had blamed Bond but, judging from the smile on his face, Bond didn’t feel as though Q minded too much and considering just why they had been running late, he definitely didn’t give a damn. Mornings needed to start with sleepy sex far more often, particularly when it involved a rumpled, sleep soft Q who made the most delectable noises and, despite knowing that they had to get to Gare du Nord, Bond had had no qualms about coaxing Q into a shared shower. It was a bit of a novelty for the first time that Bond slept with someone to not be in the midst of a haze of lust. Oh there was lust there but it was more than that. They had woken wrapped around each other and, not caring about morning breath, had exchanged kisses and soft exploratory touches that had just progressed naturally into sex.

It had been a long time since Bond had had this kind of sex. The kind that was far more focused on exploring one another’s bodies and taking the time to do so rather than just slaking lust as quickly as possible. Not since he had been with Vesper and he found that he enjoyed the change of pace far more than he had expected to. He took the opportunity to fully explore Q’s body, doing things that he had fantasised about ever since he had first spied on Q, tracing curves and angles with hands, lips and tongue, relishing in the noises that he managed to draw from Q’s throat.

He had been so intent upon ounce of pleasure that he could from Q that he ignored the clock on the bedside table until they ran a very serious risk of missing their train back to London. They had been lucky in that they had business-premier seats which meant that they didn’t have to check-in until ten minutes before their train departed, yet they had only just made it through the check-in with eight and half minutes to spare. Even that was only due to the combined efforts of both men and a lady on the check-in desk who turned out to be far from immune to their charms. They had run down the platform, laughing all the way, and just found their carriage in time as the guards blew their whistle to signify that the train was leaving.

Settling into his seat, having stowed their coats above their heads, Bond couldn’t help but smile as Q placed his laptop with their coats with just a modicum of fussing before sitting down next to Bond and raised the armrest, allowing him to nestle in as close as possible.

Maybe, just maybe, they could make this work.


	5. For Your Eyes Only

Upon their return from Paris, they seemed to fall into a routine worryingly easily. After they had seen M for their debrief they had been ushered into medical where Bond had been told that he should take the Quartermaster with him on more missions as he seemed to look after himself better. Bond had scowled at that, even as Q shook his head violently. He was more than happy in his tunnels with his inventions and computers, where the only exercise he got were the nights he spent dancing and the odd one night stand. Where the closest that he got to guns were the ones he tested and handed out to agents. He couldn't deny that it had been thrilling racing through the catacombs and around Paris, but it would have been far better had they not been getting chased by people who were shooting at them. Bond's antics were bad enough over the comms, but in real life? Q was positive that he'd knocked a few years off his life expectancy.

What Q had found interesting was the fact that they way Bond had treated him in Paris hadn't stopped upon their return to London. Cynic that he was, Q had assumed that all of Bond's flirting and behaviour prior to the mission had simply been Bond's way of pre-establishing the connection between them and he had hated himself for the disappointment he had felt upon the presumption that it had been more than that. Only, Bond hadn't stopped the flirting or any of the rest of it. He was still touching and kissing Q whenever he could (and whenever Q would allow it), still bringing him tea and food, still taking him out for dinner.

Despite Bond’s words and actions in Paris, Q hadn’t completely believed him; hadn’t dared to. Q had lasted all of a week before he had exploded at Bond, thankfully in the privacy of his office, coolly informing him that if he wanted a toy to play with in the short-term then he would need to look elsewhere. To say that he was shocked by Bond's response was an understatement to say the least, but the shock was swiftly followed by delight. And, if he got a bit carried away in exposing that delight, well, nobody need know but he and Bond.

~*~

By the time they had been back from Paris for three weeks, Q was starting to feel antsy, almost as though there was something crawling under his skin. He knew exactly what was causing it; he just wasn’t entirely sure how to solve the problem. That was because the problem was James Bond.

Ever since Q had exploded, they had fallen into a relationship and Q wasn’t entirely sure how to take it. He wasn’t saying that he didn’t want to be in a relationship because he actually wanted that very much; it was just that they hadn’t discussed any of this – just that Bond’s actions hadn’t been solely restricted to the mission - and it just seemed to have happened. Q knew that what he really needed was a night out at the club dancing but he didn’t know what the etiquette was when you were in a relationship and you wanted to go out dancing with lots of people who weren’t the man you were seeing. Did Bond even consider them to be in a relationship? It was all just far too confusing. They had gone out for dinner, spent evenings at both their houses with Bond reading a book and Q watching a crap movie and tapping away at his laptop and nights where they had done everything but slept. They still hadn’t talked however.

It didn’t take more than a couple of days before Bond realised that there was something going on and cornered Q, locking them both in the latter’s office.

“Bond, what the hell do you think you’re doing? It’s the middle of the afternoon and we’re both at work.”

“Exactly. It’s the middle of the afternoon, there are no missions running currently and you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been acting strange for the last couple of days and I want to know why. What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know.” Q pressed on, despite Bond’s disbelieving look, “I really don’t. I just feel restless. I don’t know why, I just do. I need … “

“You need to go dancing.”

“Exactly! I need to go dancing. I just wasn’t sure if I … could.” As soon as the words had left his mouth, Q knew that they were stupid. That he had been stupid.

“Q, if you need to go and dance, then go and dance. I’m not going to stop you. Far from it.”

“Bond, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that, if you want to go and dance, then go and dance. On two conditions.”

“Okaaay, what are these conditions?” Q refused to commit himself before he had heard said conditions. Knowing Bond, they could be absolutely anything.

“Firstly, I get to dress you in whatever I choose for you to wear to go out dancing. Secondly, I come with you and watch you dancing.”

They might be in his office but Q was unable to hold back the moan that ripped itself from his throat. He had been turned on the minute that Bond had started listing his conditions and now he was seriously considering breaking his own rule about personal relations in his office.

“Well? Are my conditions acceptable to you?”

Q nodded before clearing his throat. “Yes, they’re, um, they’re acceptable.”

“Good. When are we going?”

Q was gripping the desk in order to stop himself from grabbing for Bond and doing something entirely inappropriate for the office. “Tomorrow?” Q’s voice sounded entirely too strangled for his liking, so he tried again with more conviction. “Tomorrow, we’re going tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is good. That gives me time to make some … preparations.” Bond smirked as Q whimpered at the promise in his voice. “I won’t see you tonight. I think it’s best to allow the suspense to … build, don’t you?”

~*~

By the time that clocking-off the following day came around, Q felt as though he were balancing on a knife-edge and now, his skin was not only itching with the need to go out and dance but also anticipation for Bond’s conditions. He was more grateful than he could articulate that the few missions that were active didn’t require his presence and could be dealt with by R quite easily. Speaking of R, Danielle clearly knew that something was going on because she had been giving him sly looks and amused grins all day that had Q trying desperately not to blush.

For the first time ever, Q left MI6 on time. In fact, he had been of no use whatsoever for the last 30mins or so of his shift, his messenger bag packed and waiting for him with the bare minimum of things that he needed for the weekend. If he was being truthful, he had no intention of any of said items leaving his bag as he had no real intention of leaving bed all weekend, well other than dancing. But hopefully the dancing was going to be short and would lead to plenty of time in bed. Or out of it. He wasn’t particularly fussy. He had just about managed to maintain his composure while he exited the building but then had abandoned all pretence the minute that he was outside and only narrowly avoided being run over in his haste to get across into the underground station. Bond had stolen the spare set of keys to Q’s house when they had returned from Paris and Q had never bothered making a fuss about it which now meant that at least he knew where to go.

Not being the last person to leave the office meant that he was trying to use the tube at rush hour but, thankfully, it wasn’t too bad and he wasn’t crushed up against the door with his face buried in somebody’s armpit which had happened before. Despite it being a short journey, it still felt like it had taken forever by the time that Q was standing in front of his house, the sight of lights on inside already making anticipation thrum through him. Having no desire to prolong things any further, he strode down the path, fumbling with the keys and even dropping them before he managed to get the door open. Slipping inside and resetting the security system behind him, he couldn’t hear any sign that the house was occupied but he had no doubt that Bond was here somewhere.

“Bond?”

“Upstairs.”

Toeing off his shoes and dropping his bag in the hall, Q made his way up the stairs towards the only room that had lights on; his bedroom. Sat on the bed were three shopping bags, two belonging to some of Bond’s favourite shops while the third was much smaller and discreetly embossed with words that Q couldn’t quite make out from where he stood. To be perfectly honest, he was far more interested in the man lounging against the doorframe leading to the en-suite. As attractive as Bond was in all the designer suits, Q was particularly fond of him dressed as he was; casual and relaxed.

“Well, it looks as though someone’s been busy. Dare I ask what you’re planning on making me wear?”

“You sound as though you want to get tonight over as quickly as possible. Don’t you trust me?”

“You know the answer to that, James.”

“Back to calling me James? I had wondered if that would ever happen. Good. In which case, trust me to make this good.”

“I’m just a little … alarmed at whatever it is you’ve got planned that requires me to trust you.”

Bond held out a hand and Q walked across the room to take it, allowing himself to be pulled into Bond’s arms and kissed softly, gently.

“When you’ve … dressed up before, have you ever thought about shaving yourself?”

“Shaving myself?” Q was slightly taken aback by the question but answered honestly. “I assume you mean my legs and not my bollocks so yes, I’ve considered it, but I could never really be bothered. Why?”

“Would you be willing to try it? If you say no, that’s absolutely fine and I won’t ask you again but …”

Q cut him off with a kiss. “I’ll try it but I reserve the right to veto it in the future if I hate it. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Right, how are we going to do this? Or have you just bought out Boots stock of disposable razors?”

Bond stepped aside so that Q could see into the bathroom properly, where a steaming hot bath had already been run in the huge claw-footed tub and Bond’s straight razor kit lay already open on the side. Bond’s arm encircled Q’s waist from behind as he murmured huskily in Q’s ear.

“I was hoping you’d let me use that.”

Q swallowed audibly, the reason Bond had asked him about trust now visible even as he was envisioning Bond using it on him. “Alright then, yes.”

(~*~)

They didn’t get out of the bath until the water had started to turn cold but, while Bond wrapped a towel around his waist, he didn’t let Q dry off at all. Instead, he laid a towel on the counter next to the sink and hoisted Q up onto it. Q leant back on his elbows and watched as Bond prepared the shaving foam and stropped the razor ready to begin shaving. His pulse was already starting to race in anticipation and Bond had barely done anything yet. Q’s breath quickened as Bond took his foot and braced it against his shoulder and started to lather up his skin. By the time that Bond was half-way through shaving his first leg, Q was already more turned on than he had ever been. Then again, he wasn’t used to being the centre of Bond’s intense focus. Once both legs had been completely denuded, Q was already more than half-hard, not least from the way that Bond’s breath had ghosted hotly over Q’s cock when Bond had been shaving the area at the apex of Q’s thighs.

With both of his legs shaved, Q managed to hold still long enough for Bond to wipe away any excess shaving foam but when he tried to move, he found himself pinioned as Bond moved back onto his knees rather than helping Q down.

“Bo.. James, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He got a cheeky grin in response. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“But, but…”

“Stop talking Q.”

Bond hooked his elbows under Q’s knees and pulled him forward so that he was perched right at the edge of the counter. Bond then proceeded to change Q’s position so that his knees were hooked over Bond’s shoulders, leaving him wide open and feeling far too exposed for his liking. Then his head was thudding back as Bond placed a hand on each of Q’s arse cheeks and spread them, swiping his tongue from Q’s perineum to his tail bone. He repeated his action several times before he finally turned his attention fully to Q’s hole, something that had Q clutching at Bond’s head with one hand while the other clutched at the edge of the counter.

Q couldn’t help but wail as Bond proceeded to stiffen and slightly furl his tongue before ever so slowly starting to tongue-fuck Q, who pressed back eagerly. Bond continued to torment Q, alternating between rimming him and leaving bites across the swell of his arse that erred just on the pleasurable side of pain and that would undoubtedly bruise. Not that Q cared. Incapable of anything other than incomprehensible babble, Q spilled himself across his stomach resulting in a very smug-looking James Bond. Bond got to his feet with a barely visible grimace, pausing only to suck one last bite into the crease of Q’s thigh, before pressing a kiss to Q’s lips.

“Let’s get you dressed.”

Getting dressed was the last thing that Q wanted to do. He wanted Bond to fuck him into the mattress and not stop; he didn’t even want to go dancing. Well, he did but he was happy to postpone that if it meant that he could get fucked. Then again, he had never been dressed by Bond before. He sat and watched Bond dress quickly, unable to stop himself from running his fingers over his newly smooth legs. Bond’s reasoning behind leaving all of the love bites became clear when Q was wearing the sheer black stockings and the garter belt, Bond attaching the two of them to ensure that the stockings stayed up. The garters themselves would, when attached to the belt, directly lie over (and thus rub continuously) the love bites which meant that Q would be unable to stop thinking about them. They were followed by a tiny scrap of fabric that barely covered Q’s cock and balls and then a very conservative shirt and trousers. Q couldn’t help but stare at the image presented in the mirror of himself and Bond, looking like any other couple out for an evening.

If only people knew the truth.

“Let’s go.”

(~*~)

Bond watched Q for as long as he could, standing at the bar and watching as he moved with abandon, eyes closed and moving with the music. Bond relished the fact that nobody else knew what Q was wearing under his shirt and trousers, what Bond had dressed him in. he could see the slight grimace every so often as a movement made the straps of the garter belt rub against the bite marks that Bond had left earlier that evening. He was aware of every single admiring glance that Q received and the possessive part of him was more than a little gratified to see that Q was either completely oblivious, lost in the dance, or that he shrugged off any unwanted touches.

Of course, there was one that couldn’t take the hint. He was a young pup, looking even younger than Q, and was, admittedly, a good looking guy. A bit too good-looking come to think of it. Bond knew that Q wasn’t interested in anybody else but that didn’t stop him from glaring at the interloper and knocking back the rest of his drink. It had been a long time since he had danced – probably a drunken evening with Alec and two supposedly high-class Russian prostitutes at Sobranie. They were two very different venues with two very different types of dancing.

He made his way to Q, ducking more than a few flailing limbs as he got closer. When the other man didn’t get the hint and move away, Bond physically removed him away from Q and slipped in behind Q, placing his hands on Q’s hips to let him know that he was there, avoiding an elbow to the temple in the process. Grasping Q’s hips firmly, he pulled them back into the cradle of his own hips, appreciating the fact that the scant one inch height difference between them meant that they aligned almost perfectly. Q clearly wasn’t expecting him because the moment he was pressed against Bond from shoulder to thighs, he startled violently and only calmed when Bond whispered in his ear.

“It’s me. Relax.”

Q stilled, stopping his movements completely, turning his head so that his breath ghosted across Bond’s cheek. “I thought that tonight was about me dancing?”

“Is it illegal for me to dance with you?” Bond bumped his hip into Q’s, setting them swinging back into motion.

Q allowed himself to move back into the dance, although this time he was more constrained by Bond’s body. “Illegal? No. I guess I’m just surprised that an old warship like you knows how to dance. This isn’t exactly a waltz.”

The sarcastic comment received him a bite to the sensitive skin just under his ear, Bond smirking as Q arched his back and gasped in pleasure.

“I wouldn’t write me off just yet. The beauty of being an old warship is having a wealth of experience to draw on.”

“Go on then. Impress me.”

Bond didn’t bother to respond; he just started moving to the beat, sliding one hand round from Q’s hip to his stomach, pulling him even closer, their bodies moving completely in sync. Dancing with Q was completely different to dancing with anybody else. Q might be skinny but his size belied the strength that his body contained which made a pleasant sensation as Bond held him. As he lost himself in the music once more, he started to move more freely, writhing sinuously in Bond’s arms, grinding his hips into Bond teasingly before moving away again.

After Q had done the same thing for a third time, Bond had had enough of the games. Using his grip on Q, he spun him around so that they were face to face, sliding one of his legs between Q's so that Q's crotch was pressed up against his leg.

  
"Stop being such a bloody tease, Q."

Q gave him an innocent look that belied his actions. "You mean that you don't like it when I do that?"

Bond pulled him forward. "You know bloody well how much I like it but I'm not a fan of exhibitionism which is what will happen if you keep going."

"Promises, promises."

Q's sultry smirk was ruined as his eyes rolled back in his head when Bond took advantage of Q's untucked shirt and slid his hand down his trousers. Knowing what Q was going to be wearing underneath said trousers, Bond had chosen a slightly looser fit than he would have done on any other occasion, not only so that nobody else would know but also for this exact purpose. There was just enough room for Bond to cup his hand around Q's arse and reach the straps of the garter belt. He then set about tormenting Q.

As fun as this had been, and it was definitely something that Bond wanted to do again, it had gone on long enough; he just had to get Q to capitulate. He started by fiddling with the garter straps, running his fingers along them, even snapping one of them slightly which earned him a delightful shiver. All the while, he was pressing kisses and leaving teasing bites along whatever exposed skin he could reach. When he failed to get more of a response, he moved onto something that was likely to gain a bigger response. Moving his attention from the garters, he allowed his fingers to trail across the curve of Q's arse, nails scoring lightly across the line of bruises that he had left earlier, mentally picturing the way that they would stand out purple-black against Q's pale skin. Again, it resulted in delightful shivers and Q panting softly in Bond's ear. It still wasn't enough though. He allowed his fingers to slide further up until they slid inside the scrap of fabric that Q was wearing before ghosting them teasingly down the crack of Q’s arse. This time, the reaction was more like he wanted. Q threw his arms around Bond’s neck and bit his ear lobe, breathing hotly in his ear.

"Take me home, James."

"With pleasure."

Bond had never really been one for the back of the cab cliché but it was impossible to keep his hands off Q and, in all honesty, he didn't really want to. With seductions on missions, foreplay was always a means to an end, just as the sex was. This time, it had been drawn out, for both of them, and it was going to make this all the more pleasurable. He traced a hand over one of the garters through Q's trousers and smiled at the faint whimper the action elicited and leant over to whisper in Q's ear.

"Now, the real question is whether I should take my time and strip you out of these first or whether I should fuck you while you're still wearing them. What do you think?"

"I think you'll find that I don't give a damn as long as you fuck me."

“Are you sure about that? You don’t have a preference? As to whether I strip you completely naked or take off that scrap of fabric I was told was lace and leave you wearing the stockings and garter belt?" Bond ran his finger along the garter again before he continued talking. "Maybe I should just leave you wearing everything, simply push your knickers aside and fuck you like that. What do you think?"

Q had been practically sitting in Bond's lap since they got in the cab but he threw away any thoughts of decorum and sat himself firmly in Bond's lap, kissing him deeply. The movement earned them a cry of 'Oi! Seatbelts!' from the driver but Q ignored him and Bond simply flipped him off.

In his defence, he did give him a large tip when he dropped them off at Bond's flat but Bond wasn't going to give a shit about wearing a seatbelt when he had an amorous Q in his lap. The sole reason that Bond had brought them back to his flat rather than Q's house was because he knew that it was quicker to get back to Leadenhall from Soho than to get to Brixton. He didn't even spare a glance for the doorman, entirely too preoccupied with getting Q in the lift so that he could start ravishing him.

Having pushed the button to send them up to the penthouse, Bond immediately pressed Q into the wall of the lift, starting to work on the buttons of his shirt even as he claimed Q’s lips. He briefly toyed with the idea of stopping the lift but dismissed it out of hand because what he really wanted to do was get Q into a bed. Q’s shirt was left by the front door, his shoes scattered across the living room and his trousers at the door to Bond’s bedroom. Pushing Q down onto the king-sized mattress, Bond summarily stripped himself, smirking inwardly as he saw Q watching avidly and reaching down to palm his cock through the knickers. Pulling open the drawer of his nightstand, he pulled out lube and a condom before sitting on the side of the bed and running a hand up Q’s leg, even as he placed a pillow under Q’s arse, lifting it up slightly.

“So, did you make your decision or am I going to decide for you?”

“I don’t care; whatever means you fuck me quicker.” Q pulled Bond down for a kiss, nipping at his lips.

“Impatient, aren’t we? What would you do if I said that I wanted to take my time?” Bond’s words earned him a slight growl from Q.

“I’d say that you’ve taken enough time already. Just fuck me, James. _Please._ ”

“Well, seeing as you asked so nicely.”

Bond leant down and traced the line of one of the garters with his tongue, admiring the contrast that the black made with Q’s pale skin and nipping gently at Q’s hipbone before pulling off the knickers and discarding them over the side of the bed. He didn’t waste any time in lubing his fingers, sliding them down Q’s cleft and circling his hole several times, smirking as Q pushed back eagerly, almost desperately. It was hard to take the glare he received in response seriously but he relented, sliding his first finger into Q and groaning at the tight heat that encased it. Q was in no mood to take things slowly, but then there was always time for that later, pushing Bond for more and greedily taking in another two fingers in quick succession until he had three buried in him, twisting and stretching him for what was to follow. All the while, Bond was paying attention to the rest of Q’s torso and any part of Q that could be reached, pressing kisses and teasing bites to his chest, nipples and ribs, as well as sucking a livid mark high up on Q’s neck, where it couldn’t be hidden by clothes.

Q clearly had no intention of waiting for Bond to put the condom on himself and, in a fairly impressive contortion act, managed to locate and rip open the packet before rolling the condom onto Bond, all the while keeping Bond’s fingers inside him. Bond took the hint and, barely pausing, removed his fingers from Q and replaced them with his cock. He pressed in steadily until he was buried balls-deep in Q, the garters pressing into his thighs and then he paused, hands clamped down on Q’s hips to keep him still. Q’s didn’t complain; he simply wound his legs around Bond’s waist, spreading himself wider and fully pulling Bond’s bulk on top of him. One of these times, he was going to have to take Q from behind so that he could see that perfect arse framed by the garters but that could wait. For now, he wanted to watch Q fall apart beneath him.

And what a beautiful sight it was.

 

 

Q was turning out to be a particularly responsive lover, knowing exactly what he wanted and not afraid to be vocal about it. Whimpers, keens and wordless cries escaped his lips along with pleas for more, all of it clearly heard over the slight thump of the headboard against the wall and the sound of Bond’s own grunts. A particularly loud moan escaped him as Q’s nails scraped up Bond’s back before his fingers fisted themselves in Bond’s short hair, pulling him down to meet Q’s lips. He wasn’t still either, writhing as much as he possibly could under Bond, knees clamped around Bond’s ribcage, using his ankles to encourage Bond to move harder, deeper, faster, something that Bond had no issue with doing. He grinned victoriously as Q gave a particularly loud wail as one of Bond’s thrusts raked over his prostate.

Considering the lengthy build-up they had had, it wasn’t surprising that neither of them was going to last particularly long. Determined that he wasn’t going to come before Q and knowing that he was close, Bond snaked a hand in between them and wrapped it around Q’s cock, stroking it somewhat awkwardly in time with his thrusts. It didn’t take more than a few strokes before they were both coming, Q spilling himself over his stomach and Bond’s hand as he clenched convulsively around Bond’s cock.

Bond muffled his cry at the sensation in Q’s neck before trailing kisses up to Q’s lips. Kisses that were soft and gentle, completely at odds with what had gone previously. Bond smiled as Q wrapped his arms around his neck, bringing him down for another kiss that was more prolonged, before he extricated himself from Q’s limbs and body, moving towards the bathroom and removing the condom as he did so.

When Bond returned from the bathroom, damp cloth in hand, Q had moved slightly and now lay sprawled on his stomach, legs slightly spread and making a very pretty picture. Bond leant down and dropped a kiss to the slightly curved lips before trailing kisses down Q’s spine and across every mark his lips and teeth had left earlier in the evening. Rolling Q over onto his back, he slowly removed the garter belt and stockings then wiped away the semen from Q’s stomach and inner thighs.

“How soon can I tempt you back into these?”

Q laughed, wrapping his arms and legs around Bond and pulling him down for a kiss, “I think it can be made into a regular occurrence.”

Bond pressed Q back into the mattress, kissing him until he stopped laughing. “Good. As long as nobody but me sees you like this.”

“Possessive much?” Q ran gentle fingers over the red marks he had left over Bond’s back, the fingers soft and, though they weren’t intended that way, arousing Bond’s interest again.

“Yes, over the things that mean a great deal to me. Now how do you feel about round two?”

“I’d say what are you waiting for?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Art can be found on Tumblr [here](http://artgroves.tumblr.com/post/106956587854/artset-for-lose-your-clothes-and-show-your-scars)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Lose Your Clothes and Show Your Scars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591413) by [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton)




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